On Easter morn I woke before dawn
To play the Easter rabbit.
My children’s hunt would follow soon,
The yearly Easter habit.
I hid the eggs so colorful, ETC.
I wrote “Easter Morning” for my father in 1974 or ’75 after seeing the sadness in his eyes when my youngest sister, then 8 or 9, declined his offer to stage an Easter egg hunt for her. The last of his kids had grown up. With my own youngest daughter now eight, the hunts may be near an end for me, too. Or maybe not. I may be spared the sorrow of a lapsed family ritual, for even my oldest kids still enjoy a good Easter egg hunt.