When I was young
It was about the sweets—
Gathering at the start line,
waiting for the signal.
Leaving everyone I knew
behind me, dashing off in pursuit.
Gathering at the start line,
waiting for the signal.
Leaving everyone I knew
behind me, dashing off in pursuit.
The chocolate, the candy,
Chocolate bunnies, Easter eggs.
It was the thrill of the hunt
And the treasures inside.
As I grow older
It’s a different day,
not a special day.
Sit through a church sermon,
go shopping, and cook.
Relatives, even unfavorable ones,
Make a special trip to my house,
Where we laugh our way through conversation.
When everyone leaves, the cleaning begins.
not a special day.
Sit through a church sermon,
go shopping, and cook.
Relatives, even unfavorable ones,
Make a special trip to my house,
Where we laugh our way through conversation.
When everyone leaves, the cleaning begins.
I hunt for a reason to even be excited.
As I look toward my time of dying,
I finally see the importance.
I peel back the way society
has portrayed Easter. I look
beyond circumstances
and fabrications of this day.
I finally see the importance.
I peel back the way society
has portrayed Easter. I look
beyond circumstances
and fabrications of this day.
I reflect back on the resurrection—
Salvation from the cross,
The love of my Savior.
I know there is life after death.
My hunt for Christ has been satisfied.
No comments:
Post a Comment