My eight year old feet were winging,
Barely touching the newly turned sod.
My exuberant heart was singing,
Spontaneous praises to God.
Back home with my loved ones at last!
Thank you, dear Father on high!
Those ravaging hours have past,
It's Easter! Jesus lives! !
And so do I! !
Connie Yost's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (It's Easter by Connie Yost )
- Reality Is, Esther Thornburg
- Our days are clearly well-known, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Life, samuel sannoh
- Blind, Blind, Naveed Khalid
- A ripple's life, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- What is this world of ours ماهذا العالم .., MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Sinners الاثمون, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Touch-me-not, Naveed Khalid
- The Sword and the Plowshare, John F. McCullagh
- On the road a Recovery Poem, jeff newnham
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