Easter Poetry

Lent

Lent is a tree without blossom, without leaf,
Better than blackthorn in its winter sleep,
All unadorned. Unlike Christmas which decrees
The setting-up, the dressing-up of trees.

Lent is a taking down, a stripping bare,
A starkness after all has been withdrawn
Of surplus and superfluous,
Leaving no hiding place, only emptiness
Between black branches, a most precious space
Before the leaf, before the time of flowers;
Lest we should see only the leaf, the flower,
Lest we should miss the stars.
Jean M.Watt

Sightseers into Pilgrims

I used to think –
loving life so greatly –
that to die would be
like leaving a party
before the end.

Now I know that the party
is really happening
somewhere else;
that the light and the music –
escaping in snatches
to make the pulse beat
and the tempo quicken –
come from a long way away.

And I know too
that when I get there
the music will never end.
Evangeline Paterson

♥♥♥

Easter Sunday

prettyplacechapel

Easter is not a time for groping through dusty,
musty tomes or tombs to disprove
spontaneous generation or even to prove life eternal.
It is a day to fan the ashes of dead hope,
a day to banish doubts and
seek the slopes where the sun is rising,
to revel in the faith which transports us
out of ourselves and the dead past
into the vast and inviting unknown.
Author unknown

And he departed from our sight
that we might return to our heart,
and there find Him.
For He departed,
and behold,
He is here.
St Augustine

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