I've almost seen the shamrock cross the palm.
I feel the last of Winter on my face
as I aspire to find some kind of balm
in Faith's assurance that this time and space
need never fetter my now-ransomed soul.
Yet wicked bonds can hold, and hold me fast,
and, protest as I might, I am not whole
until I teach my stubborn will to grasp
the meaning of Redemption. He who threw
forever open the Eternal Door
still leaves it up to all of us to choose
if we will enter. Who could ask for more
than Resurrection? But there is no Peace
until we will our exile to cease.
Easter came so early that I almost missed it.
Peace and joy to you and yours.