poem, Easter Morning

It’s early on an Easter morn.

The sun has yet to rise.

A bird nearby begins to sing,

And soft clouds fill the skies.

I think of Jesus on the cross

And in the garden there,

And how they laid Him in a tomb

With tenderness and care.

Then on a morning such as this—

The day was young and new—

Jesus rose and lived again.

I know that this is true.