Easter Sunday Poem by Linda Gantt

Church bells tolling- louder this Lord's day,
announcing something big and bold.

'Welcome, one and all, ' the minister greets,
as souls cross the threshold of saving grace.

Chords of 'Christ Arose' further greet grandly,
as smiling peoples find their seats.

The Biblical message of Jesus' resurrection
peals from the pulpit with power and pomp.

Parishioners affected so, 'Hallelujah, glory, glory',
with tears streaming down red-rouged cheeks.

But the old lame man in the far back row,
hears no good news, feels not a whit of joy.

No doubt sleep is his greatest need,
as his eyes close and his head bobs.

Bells, sweet and pure, chiming again,
crowds rushing- somewhere.

The craggy old man inert,
in a faraway dreamland still.

Come back, kind folk.
Does not this slumbering soul need you- today?

But nobody notices, nobody stops,
aromas of Easter ham beckoning.

Everybody leaves, everybody goes- somewhere.
Let come what may they seem to say.

Guess you are on your own, dearest old man.