Judas
Thirty pieces he took in vain;
the devil's price; a soul to gain.
A kiss not warm but deadly cold,
for the only one death could not hold.
Look, my children, you will see,
the traitor hangs from a red bud tree.
Bloated body from head was torn;
better for him, he'd not been born.
A moments riches all for naught;
a potters field was all he bought.
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2017
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