This poem from a Mother of the Cross was inspired upon seeing the hologram of the Shroud of Turin.

"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.

 Love Crucified