|
It's Easter Sunday
In McKelligan Canyon,
Sunrays crawling over mountain tops
Turning blue gray into gradual gray green.
The song of angels from the misty hill,
"He is Risen" from tradition's books
Folding chairs and blankets on an old river bed,
The morning's damp chill.
Daters, families, sleeping babes, tots and teens,
Hundreds gathered together at once,
The long winter gone, the yearly thrill,
Song of Songs eternal.
|
