“Drive carefully”, the daffodils are saying,
our village lies quiet as the grave;
are people really praying?
They’re not religious, by and large,
but an invisible plague is stalking,
taking young and aged.
Confined, we slowly fill the hours
washing hands, and storing food,
not looking at the flowers.
Yes, Easter slips across the fells
carried by birdsong and the
countless daffodils.
A new song breaks, so unexpected,
bursting hedges, green again
from winter resurrected.
And in the fields, young lambs, eyes
newly opened on the world,
are bleating their surprise.
Listen now, a sound of clapping,
people gathering in the street,
shouting, crying, laughing.
Is this Easter, life reborn
lifting darkness from our hearts.