Sunday, April 20, 2014

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday

All the sainted are in church but I 

I have gone again 
to a holier place
they speak not,
or laugh,
or cry

Let me enter these hallowed grounds
this Easter Sunday
the wind stirs the solemn stillness
and only birds are heard 
to chirp and sing
while grass and trees 
now grow about the headstone
for days on end no one has come
to gaze upon the cracked and fallen stones
and say a prayer for the dead
and read a name or two of those
whose brief lives now come and gone
too quickly, once loved, now forgotten
by all but me

And thee,
if thee, should reads these lines
and feeling curiosity
should seek a Sunday morn
to find a cemetery
down a dusty country road
where a buried child lies
long gone are this child’s kindred souls
will thee, like me wonder
did the mother cry?
and father too?
to lose one so young
in the innocence of youth

Proud parents once brought to tears
parents who were farmers
and sowed their seed in the earth
knowing that bird and drought
would take some,
but not these
not their own
before they were grown

Yet, their faith forbade
a somber thought
‘tis Easter Sunday
the Lord commanded
that one day
their child would rise
to once again laugh and cry

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