A Poem for Eastertide

It is still Eastertide in the Church. In the world, Easter ends after the last chocolate of Easter Monday (if not before), and we move on to Barbequetide. I prefer the Church way! Here, then, is a poem for Eastertide.

If Any of it is True, All of it is True

If any of it is true, all of it is true.

If any of it is true, it is all true though

the grave and grey brows rise.

This is not logic’s way, of course,

but the song of Hope, who knows

life is short and so starts at the end.

The end is life’s own newness,

raised. And he,

the newing one,

does no smug show, and proves no thing,

and death, for all that’s done, is

death, still.

But life is here, and here is taste,

is meal, are we. So here is love,

true love, my love.

It’s this the world cries out to say:

God loves to be, to chat with me,

and that to no end.

So, hear, touch, taste and see:

‘if any of it is true, all of it is true’

is true. 

(c) Patrick Morrow