The birds began on Easter Sunday
to sing the song they’ve sung since Christ the Lord
died upon a cross one Holy Friday
and rose to a new life. Now every bird
& beast & tree & leaf enacts his rising
and greens itself against the bitter dearth
that curses every creature until Spring
frees us from our winter sleep.
Praise the day that breaks each early hour.
Praise the sun that pries us out of bed.
Praise the dirt that surges with fresh power.
Every root & bone we took for dead
stirs and harkens to the ageless song
sung by the birds this Easter dawn.