A Locked-Tomb Mystery

Scottish Hot Cross Buns by Marijke Blazer

A Locked-Tomb Mystery

Maybe there really was a guy who said,
“Why can’t we get along ?”
Maybe the poor sap went and wound-up dead,
From when it all went wrong.
And maybe his still-believing converts claimed
He rose up from the grave,
Like dozens of disciples of previous prophets
Framed their loss to keep them brave.

Hardly a two-pipe problem, this.
Not much call for the little grey cells.
But round-up the witnesses if you wish,
And compare the parallels.
Now, how many women approached the site ?
Three ?  Or two ?  Or one alone ?
How many young men dressed in white ?
Was there a guard ?  Or tampered-with stone ?

We’ve so few clues for the how, why, or when,
But remember the first rule of proof –
If we first eliminate the impossible,
Then what remains is likely the truth.
Maybe there really was a guy who said
“Let’s love our neighbours, hey ?”
And maybe, alas, he really wound-up dead.
And that’s all there is to say…

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