"One of the things that touched me deeply were the flowers that strewn on Jesus' body.  I thought a lot about the simple ordinary flowers that were collected from the nearby fields.  I imagined that it was the women who performed this final act of love for their Savior.  I pondered how this act of pure love, although evident on the shroud, had been hidden from anyone's knowledge for more than 2,000 years.  In a similar way our acts of love for our Lord are hidden but recorded in the heart of God. 

O Wounded Jesus
O wounded Jesus
I pray that I may be a little flower,
a simple flower,
a lowly flower. 
That when tossed upon your body as you were laid in the tomb
landed on your precious wounds.
O to be a little flower.
A flower that falls upon your beautiful face and upon your crown of thorns.
O to be a little flower,
that touches your wounds,
that falls upon your gashes
and where your flesh was torn away.
A little flower that falls upon your blood,
that is soaked by your blood,
that is immersed in your blood.
O wounded Jesus, I pray that I may be a little flower
happy to be plucked from the plant without warning.
Content to be tossed about, gently landing where God wills,
consoling you, even if just a little.