Poem of the Day

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Good News Story

By Lynelle Kendall

The Easter story starts at Christmas,

When a baby named Jesus was born.

A special child, sent to save all people.

He brought hope like a bright new dawn.

As a man he told people God wanted their friendship,

But the wrong things they did had to go.

God is good, he is sad when we steal, when we lie,

When we’re mean to the people we know.

The first Easter, good Friday, Jesus died on a cross,

Took away all those wrong things we do,

And to prove he’s God’s son, and that those things are gone,

He came back to life! Yes it’s true!

Trust him with your heart and you can be God’s friend!

That’s what Easter is really about.

Hot cross buns will remind us; Jesus made a way,

It’s a good news story, no doubt!

Poetry Prompt 11Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12.

Author’s Note: At Easter, Christians celebrate that Jesus died on the cross and came back to life. This good news is for all people everywhere. If you want to
find out more, ask the Chaplain at your school.
 

Poem of the Day

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Easter Unwrapped!

by Monty Edwards

 

Easter’s not about a bunny ,

Nor the eggs in shops you’ll see

Wrapped in foil with shells of chocolate:

Mostly empty , you’ll agree.

Easter’s all about a Saviour:

One who died and rose again;

Paid a price to bring us freedom;

Lives for evermore to reign.

 

We can leave our guilt behind us.

Jesus bore it on his cross.

Start again, and grateful serve him,

Rescued from eternal loss.

Ours is wisdom to obey him:

He alone our rightful King;

This is lasting satisfaction

Chocolate eggs can never bring.

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12

Poetry Prompt 11

Author comment: Amid today’s crass commercialism, the poem attempts to remind readers of Easter’s original meaning and significance which remain important to millions the world over.

Poem of the Day

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Not Hot Cross Buns Again!

by Carolyn Eldridge-Alfonzetti

 

At Easter Mum bakes special buns —

they’re warm and soft and sweet.

But with those piped white crosses

come some things this kid won’t eat.

 

The shiny glaze Mum brushes on,

I think is kind of icky.

It makes the buns look like they’re wet

and leaves my fingers sticky.

 

The shriveled-up sultanas

look like flies cooked in the dough.

I pick them out for our dog, Rex

(Shhhh.  Mummy doesn’t know!)

 

Those buns would be much nicer, too,

without mixed peel and spice.

If you ask me, next Easter,

hot cross doughnuts would be nice!

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12

Poetry Prompt 11