(R)evolution:  Easter Rising

This Easter Sunday was the first

Without the old sun-dancing Christ:

The bread stayed bready and the wine

Passed up its chance to be divine;

Outside our window the cedar tree

Shook its head along with me,

Blankly dismissing the old sublime;

The dogs that passed, for the very first time,

Were kindred panters of the air;

The dead lived on in my genes and my hair

And the tea-leaves showed me nothing to fear;

But I cried a splashy Victorian tear,

Finding the day so new and so odd,

With the gain of the world and the loss of God.