Easter Mornings Poem by Chas Weeden

Children know where first to go -
the easy places where there's
plenty to fill Easter baskets
with simple-foiled chocolates.

But the special eggs are never there,
they are in the secret places -
holes in trees and crannies found
during games of hide and seek.

While they search, they watch another,
for once one finds a special egg
all must, as even children know that
more of less is less than some of more.

The children have grown and left
and no longer sneak breakfast peeks
to find glints of colored reflection
and scheme where first to go.

No, it is now ourselves now
who search on Easter mornings
for glinted memories hidden
in our own secret places.

But Easter's hunt is not of the past
and this day, more than all others,
adjures our own resurrection
and search, within our empty lives,
for the special eggs offering,
as communion, more of more.