I am haunted by those Easter risings
The black and the blue and the thorns
The blood and the battles, the bombings
The crown that He wore. He was warned
But the message He carried was crucial
And this morning our sun rises high
Over pastures preparing for summer
And newly-born lambs. Shepherd’s pie
May sit on our tables for supper
But only if farmers who care
Have sat up every night with the lambing
And fallen asleep in that chair.
Blenheim’s fields breathe green and inviting
We’ve splashed in the rain many times
We’ve grumbled through drought and poor harvest
We’ve frozen in snow, and blamed crimes
On pesticides’ cruel perversions
On men who’ve turned into machines
To feed mouths that taste nothing but sugar
Or bloat with the beer. In our dreams
We crave for a world filled with goodness
Of purity’s hand on the wheel
Of money that floats from the heavens
Or wounds that can overnight heal
But the thorns in His crown took far longer.
And still the blood flows in Ukraine
We need to remember we’re fighting
For peace and for truth. It’s the same
That message of love and endurance
As the one He brought into our world
And the words that He uttered now echo
Along with the flags we’ve unfurled.
I shall walk in the dew of the morning
I shall pray with my words loud and clear
That our leaders can take those decisions
That will bring truth and peace to our year.
I shall watch with the blue and the yellow
That flutters today in our sky
And as Easter at Blenheim sees closure
I shall sleep with its message writ high.