far from this foreign easter damp and chilly
my soul steals to a pear-shaped plot of ground
where gleamed the lilac-tinted easter lily
soft-scented in the air for yards around
alone, without a hint of guardian leaf!
just like a fragile bell of silver rime
it burst the tomb for freedom sweet and brief
in the young pregnant year at eastertime
and many thought it was a sacred sign
and some called it the resurrection flower
and i, a pagan, worshiped at its shrine
yielding my heart unto its perfumed power
f.c. mckay
