I tuck my sins
like brightly colored
Easter eggs
into the dark, hidden
nooks and crannies
of my foolish soul.
The Holy Spirit
hops relentlessly through my life
finding each rotting one,
collecting them in a basket,
leaving them at the foot of the cross.
Miraculously they hatch out
bright yellow chicks of hope,
cheerily cheeping
of His tender
new-every-morning
mercies.
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* It’s PoMo! To learn about PoMo (POetry MOnday), click here. 
Grace. It's what Easter is a lot about. And, even though we long for it, we often run or hide from it. Yet, the "hound of heaven" can be persistent. Any thoughts? Please share them in the
comments!
This poem can be found in my recent collection, "Home Noise: New Poems."
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