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For Easter (Spring) From Different Perspective

I hate the season

That grows between

Frozen beards from winter’s treason

And

Summer’s sizzle with heat so mean

I can’t even say its name

I hate the odor

That screams from green

April’s warmth stalls winter’s motor

And

Summer’s drizzle defeats a dream

I can’t even say its name

He rose again

And breathed once more

And freed my slaves

From Hell in scores

Proclaimed my death

And slammed my door

I can’t even say His name

I hate the trouble

When blooms explode

And ice sheets warm to shallow puddles

And

Tadpoles turn to frogs and toads

I can’t even say its name

I hate the season

That lets you know

Jesus lives and is your reason

And

I with demons have got to go

I won’t even note His fame.

But,

He rose again

And breathed once more

And freed my slaves

From Hell in scores

Proclaimed my death

And slammed my door

I now have to say his name

I’ll bow my knee

And must proclaim

He is the Lord

That rose again

And

I am defeated

In the spring

When blooms explode

And He

Is King.

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2 thoughts on “For Easter (Spring) From Different Perspective

  1. Dear Henry,
    I love the way you fight the growing presence of that whom you could not name, and finally surrender to his embrace.

    I could feel myself rushing to the end of the poem, eager to know how you will end up or who will win.

    Silly me, of course the seasons outwit all of us.

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