Wrong Season?

It's not Easter, but sometimes I misread the seasons.  It seems like something is nagging me that I should post this. 

                DREAD

           John 18 and 21

          by Gayle Haynes

       

Charcoal on the embers made a warming fire;

Bitter smoke swirled up and burned my nose.

"You were with Him," a servant said three times

"He had friends and you were one of those."

What threat could my love of Him now pose?

"Not I," I said, and stepped back in the dark.

I could not speak or witness of his power.

Danger was everywhere; when the soldiers came,

I took a sword to defend him in that hour.

What recompense to pay if now I cower?

Suddenly the cock crowed twice and my heart froze.

His words came back with bitter taste and tears.

"You will deny me, I who washed your feet."

He knew my weakness; the knowledge burns and sears.

What judgment waits for me in future years?

…..

Again, beside a charcoal fire, agony was ripe.

“Do you love me more than these?” he said.

Now my fear was of a different type

For He asked me to follow where he led.

How could His amazing love swallow all my dread?