It's what Easter is all about, an act of faith with never-ending implications.

His body broke the cross as it broke him

And death became the life his red blood paid.

They bound the fracture of each bleeding limb,

And linen-white he was in silence laid.

The morning robin with a slender voice

Was singing like faint wind against dry thistle;

And men made journey for the tender choice

Of death to heed, not life in soft epistle.


White water ran past cavern, tomb and rock

And mystic colours of warm flowers flared;

And from wild woods he heard the nuthatch knock

For death renewing life had three days shared.

He rose like fir trees on the mountain side

And passed from tomb, disciple and the earth.

He left a creed that makes the open-eyed

Become the symbol that becomes his birth.

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