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When I was a boy, Easter was special.
For baskets of candy, we'd search.
Not even aware of Easter's true meaning.
We never, had once, gone to Church.
Easter to me meant a generous bunny,
leaving us goodies to eat.
Fam'ly would gather together for dinner.
That was our Easter complete.
I'm sure that my parents' intentions were good.
The day always brought me much joy.
Still, I was not, at the slightest, aware,
of Christ's resurrection as a boy.
Now I'm a daddy, a son of my own.
One thing won't happen again.
Easter will always be one more reminder,
that Jesus had died for our sin.
My boy's eight years old now. He prays 'fore he eats.
He prays when he goes down to bed.
He knows his Lord Jesus. He's learning to love him.
He knows that he lives, he's not dead.
He witnessed the drama, "Jesus of Nazareth".
Saw Jesus while hung from the cross.
Bloodied and beaten, it saddened his heart.
I think that he realized the loss.
His little heart lit up, along with his dad's.
Our feelings sincere and connected.
From sadness to gladness, our feelings lit up,
as we witnessed our Lord resurrected.
A night he'll remember the rest of his life.
A story he'll hear many times.
A love that will take him directly to Heaven.
Perhaps, someday, write his own rhymes.
Searching for candy and waiting for bunnies,
is something that lives in my past.
But my little boy will be, constantly, searching
and waiting for life that will last.