This saddest chore we will fulfill,
We women weak and weary still
From all these awful days have wrought,
We will ebalm him as we ought.

But who will roll the stone away, and what about the guard?
So many things combined to make this day so very hard.
There’s the rich man’s garden, but what happened to the tomb?
My friends nervously approach and peer into the gloom. Continue reading →