Three months passed since the Asian tsunami
And much sadness still lingers in the air
Easter has landed, north, south, east and west
With many customs and pagan legends
And here am I, in Aotearoa,
Walking in reverse, so my head tells me;
So strange, Easter falls in autumn, not spring.
Such a movable feast you will agree,
Marching along, toward April showers,
And variable in so many ways,
Like the westerlies crossing the Tasman,
Or like those northern Atlantic Trade Winds;
Akin to Pesach, and the Risen Christ,
Redemption is approached, in heaps of ways.
During Holy Week, I watched the TV;
It beamed images to the Long White Cloud.
Pope John Paul Two, with tracheotomy,
In the Vatican at St. Peter’s Square,
Gave an Easter muted blessing to crowds.
Through faith, they wished his silent voice would speak,
But his waving hand signalled his farewell.
The fertility symbol of Easter,
No doubt, will spring up a new successor;
Amid chicks, bunnies, and eggs we behold
In awe, this mystic season of rebirth,
Where bright colours of daffodils’ sunlight,
Of hope, from our Saviour, who burst the tomb!
God’ Son, mankind’s gift from the Almighty.
His death, resurrection, and ascension,
Reclaimed to mankind, the Lost Paradise.
So we pledge allegiance, to the Risen,
Through Him, no evil power can hold sway,
For all mankind has found, grace in God' sight,
And His Light, has brightened the darkest spot,
So flying kites cannot outpace our prayers.
Autumn of 2005/New Zealand