We took the two grandchildren

early Sunday morning

to The Plough and Harrow Inn

for an Easter Egg hunt.

 

The kids were handed baskets

and instructed to collect

six plastic eggs of varied colours,

hidden in plain view around the garden.

 

The hunters bagged their treasure

and dashed back to the table

to claim their just desserts – one

chocolate egg each, swiftly scoffed.

 

Then while we drank our coffee

and tried to interest them

in drawing or face painting

off they set again, baskets in hand

 

to collect six more eggs,

even though we’d made it very clear

there would be no more reward.

On they went regardless

 

as if pointless self-sacrifice

is what Easter is all about,

or perhaps they expected

some miracle to occur.