03 Apr Poetry – New Dawn
The Son rose on that first day,
A great doorway opened wide.
Events played out, from Friday to Sunday,
Now an emptiness deep inside.
All is lost, how can I explain,
To whom shall we go, where can we turn.
Discarded grave cloths now remain,
What is there here for me to learn.
A seed of wheat must fall and die,
Only then will it yield much corn.
For Christ, that grain of wheat so dry,
Becomes the bread of life, reborn.
Seek not the living among the dead,
He goes before you in all you do.
It is accomplished just as he said,
Leave your grave cloths and be what is new.