When Easter Stones Are Planted*

a somewhat sonnet

I hardly know the ground on which I stand
I hear the sound of Rachel's children weeping
The veil thins yet hides some greater land
And yet you spoke of death as only sleeping

For this alone, I'd bid the trumpet sound
Let he who conquered death stay it forever
Graves like gardens let leap from the ground
That which the silver cord did long-time sever

Son of s…