When Christ was a child, He had a garden,
and many roses He grew therein...
Three times a day did He water them,
for He planned to weave Himself a wreath someday.
When the roses came into full bloom,
He summoned the neighbor Hebrew children;
they each plucked a flower,
and the garden was bare.
"How will You weave yourself a wreath?" they asked;
"Your garden has no more roses in it."
"You have forgotten that the thorns
are left for me," Christ said.
And from the thorns
they pleated Him a pricly wreath;
and drops of blood, instead of roses, adorned His brow.
             Poem by A. Pleshcheyev