easter at the edge of the sound

As the water rises it chokes the reeds.
They die back, and those
that do not float away
bow down before the ebbing flow,
worshipful in their demise,
hailing the tide-pulling moon,
forming an intricate basketweave
design; soon the green shoots,
persisting through the bodies
of their own slain sisters,
rise and reach for the sun,
death giving life once again. 

Liz McFadzean

“God has written the promise of resurrection not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.”                     Martin Luther