by F.R. Duplantier
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
That might have sprung to fowl.
The dewdrops made their colors run
Beneath night’s rising cowl.
I hid the eggs with devious skill,
Such mischief overcame me,
And waited with anticipation —
No, age could never tame me.
Although my eldest kids, by then,
Had children of their own,
For whom they hide the eggs themselves,
I still had some at home.
The children’s hunt was never begun,
Though I eagerly bid them.
The eggs remain concealed somewhere —
I’ve forgotten where I hid them.
There was a time when children spry
Searched eagerly for eggs.
The lawn may sprout with chickens soon:
Too old are now the dregs.
© 1974 F.R. Duplantier