No Room In The Tomb Poem by Francie Lynch

Is there any room in the tomb
Of our sun and our moon,
While all creation stands waiting?
It's filled with transgressions,
Our ungoldly sharp sins,
A shroud stitched by Seraphim,
With heavenly hosts on a pin.
It's darker outside than the light within.
And the temperatures rising,
There'll be no denying
Come Sunday morn.
For there's room in the tomb,
The sun has risen,
The curtains are torn,
All sins are forgiven.