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The very first Spring.
On an Easter Sunday morning
With the crocuses in bloom,
was a shaft of sunlight peeping
Through the curtains of my room.

I pondered as I looked upon
A lonely Daffodil,
And my thoughts began to wander
To a cross upon a hill.

To a love so overwhelming
That it’s hard to comprehend,
In the depth of true forgiveness
Such a start from such an end.

As I watched the children sharing
Eggs of chocolate filled with cream,
I wondered if they really knew
Of Easter’s far off dream.

And I walked into my garden
As the birds began to sing,
And thought of what he’d sacrificed
So we could all see Spring…


© 2017 WHITBYPOET1 (All rights reserved)


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