If only our children were Easter eggs,
Hidden safely in the grass,
We could search for them and pick them up,
And hold them within our clasp.

We'd have a Heavenly Easter egg hunt,
All with baskets in our hands,
Searching with a broken heart.
Only WE can understand.

"Oh, look I found your child over here",
"Hey, did anyone find mine?"
They are so beautifully colored,
And they sparkle and they shine.

These aren't your usual Easter eggs,
They each have their own special glow,
That comes from way down deep within,
Only a parent in grief would know.

We gather up our special eggs,
With excitement all around,
For the gift that we've been given,
For the treasure we have found.

We all now stare with wonderment,
At our children that have died.
We want to hold them once again,
And release them from inside.

But we all begin to realize,
We have to crack their beautiful shell,
The one that, makes them sparkle and glow,
The one they have earned so well.

We know we can't destroy their beauty,
And take them from their place,
So we give them an understanding kiss,
As a tear runs down our face.

One by one we take our baskets,
With our beautifully colored eggs,
And place them gently in the grass,
As we turn and walk away.

We look back in amazement,
As our eggs begin to sing.
We see them flutter and move about.
"Look, our eggs all now have wings."

Then the Golden Egg begins to speak...
"Your children are safe with me."
"You'll be with them when the time is right,"
"Together for all eternity."

We stand their in a circle of love,
As we look up to the sky,
Watching our radiant eggs take flight,
Knowing our children didn't die.

© 2003 - Christine Ross
~ in memory of Lucas Christopher Ross 1979 - 2001
Published in
LIVING WITH LOSS MAGAZINE
Spring 2008, Volume 23 No. 1
and
Spring 2009, volume 24 No. 1
Bereavement Publications, Inc.

EARLY SPRING