The churches are adorned
with flowers: a pagan touch,
a glimpse of petticoat
beneath the mufti.
For one week only,
the ladies of the parishes
greet the visitor
with tea and home-made cakes,
and I see the attraction
of a faith founded on flowers,
the verities of lilies
and forget-me-nots;
no judgements, only
the shared acknowledgement
of the annual resurrection
and the annual decline,
the cycle of blooming and fading.
the passage of earth to earth:
beyond theodicy
and confirmations.