It’s cold though now the little ones get born,
where a sun should give the warmth
and should shine on a green carped.
It is still white but they don’t seem to care.

Their cuckoo clock has cuckooed
and nature’s clock is not to hold.
As busy as bees, birds are making new nesting,
because old delivery rooms are already occupied,
we can hear the song of life everywhere.
But listening to that song of living,
we might find a moment of peace and silence,
for that living thought, given to us through his son.

Happy Easter