Easter Sunday, 1944

I’m far away,
the only survivor of my ship,
on a Pacific island

Today should be
Easter Sunday
according to pencil marks
and some recollection
of how Easter falls each year

Parrots are making
ruckus,
everything’s aflutter
and awash

The surf is so near here anywhere

I’ve stared into the sun
and dreamed of daffodils

I’ve gone to that hill outside
Jerusalem
and thought of an endless sun rising

I will go and search for an egg now

– Jim Dennisson (copyright 1966)

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About James Steerforth

I am an author of poetry and fiction, translator and painter who loves to have fun with borrowed feathers.
This entry was posted in Flowers, Life, Literature, Nature, Poetry, Stellar poetry, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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