EASTER AFTERNOON

Sorrow resurrects into gladness.

But the wounds never heal.

He told me so himself.

Every time he thinks of it, every

Time the story is read, he

Bleeds anew.

There's a path of drops,

Blood red drops,

From here to heaven,   

He says,   and

Though his eyes are filled

With mischief,   I am quite

Tempted

To believe him.