Between the brown hands of a server-lad <br />The silver cross was offered to be kissed. <br />The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad, <br />And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced. <br />(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.) <br />Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had, <br />(And kissed the Body of the Christ indeed.) <br />Young children came, with eager lips and glad. <br />(These kissed a silver doll, immensely bright.) <br />Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte. <br />Above the crucifix I bent my head: <br />The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead: <br />And yet I bowed, yea, kissed - my lips did cling. <br />(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)<br /><br />Wilfred Owen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maundy-thursday/
