On Easter Sunday

we'd roll hard boiled eggs

down hillsides

their painted shells would crack,

 

the beach over-run

by happy clapping gospel missions

and donkey rides,

I knew then "He's not coming back"

 

In another land

I saw a fractured child

broken by the war

cast aside by righteous rule...

 

such an act of inhumanity

there could be

no reason for,

save the rantings of a fool.