(I warned you that I’d be writing more poetry. Good poetry doesn’t need an explanation, so you can be sure that what follows is not a good poem. It came out of a thought I’m sure many of you have had; Easter is now so normalised that it can be easy – even for followers of Jesus – to take for granted things that shouldn’t. Anyway, it’s not a great poem, and comes across a bit more cynical than I’d like. I don’t want you to think that I’m some kind of Easter Scrooge – I actually quite like chocolate eggs and holidays, but I also quite like the last two lines. If I had the time I’d try and fix what I think is wrong with it, but there’s an Easter blog due, so…)
The sun shone on the day love died
As though nothing was wrong.
The world smiled on the day love died.
They didn’t know, they carried on.
Crime was done on the day love died
And resisting arrest.
Washing was done on the day love died,
Dried and folded and pressed.
So life went on the day love died,
No-one batted an eye.
Who had noticed that love had died?
Who had said a good-bye?
Love died, take a day off to raise some hell.
Love rose, so let’s have Monday off as well.
