Eostre

 

Not the cross or the thorns

or the blood or the nails,

not the spear or the whip

or the rumble of stones

from the mouth of a tomb.

 

Not the hatred and bigotry,

the small minded hypocrisy

of this clan or that clan

whose father is biggest

or most feared or cherished.

 

Not the myth and the fable

espoused by blind acolytes

heaven bent on vengeance

in Rome or Jerusalem,

Mecca or Basingstoke.

 

Not Gods or Saviours

or giant furry rabbits,

not chocolate or Simnel cakes,

eggs or crucifixes

worn as badges of faith.

 

Just the yellow of daffodils,

the touch of a loved one,

the sun in the sky

and the warmth

of a new day

 

where peace is the word

and hope is the feeling

resurrected in cynics,

ascendant in children

and held in our hearts.