Last supper

I was there at that last supper.
He washed my feet, too.
I’d placed the bread on the table and was about to return to the kitchen
but he told me to stay.
I say told, but no words were spoken;
a glance was all it took.
His touch was so tender
So different from how his body was about to be treated
Those hands nailed to the cross
had touched my feet.
Such was his love.

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