When the morning sun a star,
in hope rises to pierce the dark
all time seems lost here or far –
for Easter Day, the blessing mark.
My little kitten slouches too,
scratches at my brand-new shoe.
She rests beside me on the bed,
she hugs and needs the cotton thread.
She purrs and purrs as an engine could,
so I kept her warm as a mother would.
Soon she’ll wake to drink warm milk, my ball
of yarn she thinks to find and tumbles around,
always into something like the mitten found.
Once lost, even she jumps! However, does not fall.
The leaves are dancing
hundreds are twirling
colored clothes and coats –
Our Divine Lord’s Host.
The fountain is clapping
and lightly tapping –
The summer or fall
it’s a sequence ball.
The bird’s ivory down
toe to toe with earth’s gown