Each day is Easter Day

Where snowdrops and daffodils rested silent

beneath roofs of ice and warm blankets of snow,

witch hazel now blooms, its dry leafless branches 

clothed with flowers of yellow, gold and red,

their long ragged petals like shredded dandelions.

Along the cold shore's edge late white hellebores

turn their faces towards the promised new sun,

high on the cliff herring gulls build their new nests

crying to the wind as they wait for the dance.

On a green hill not so very far away,

his life's circle broken, his earthly work done,

a dying man hangs from a cross, as thunder

roars and lightning flashes across the dark sky

Red tulips lie crushed at the foot of the cross

like pools of blood on an old carpet of death.

But as our lord's spirit returns to his God,

life rises again this first Easter morning,

rejoins the circle, and continues the dance.

Each hallowed life is a precious gift offered

by a loving and compassionate Father,

he who choreographs the eternal circle

wherein we may now find our resurrection.

Every whispering flower, every singing bird,

each wave that gently kisses the golden sand

makes sweet music to accompany the dance,

for life is our circle, the circle our dance,

each day is Easter Day, and the dance goes on.

                                                                   Naomi