Dawn spills gold on lilies and pews; we rise to morning light,
Church bells weave the old, warm hymns that chase the lingering night.
We gather round the table—honeyed bread and ham in sight,
With whispered thanks and easy laughter, everything feels right.

Baskets brim with ribboned eggs in colors bright and gay,
Children dart through dew-soft grass, their giggles lead the way.
Behind each hedge a painted shell, a tiny treasure to stay,
The yard rings out with joyful finds that linger past the play.

We share the hush of morning prayers, the candles' gentle gleam,
A promise held in every smile, a hope borne in each dream.
Hearts warmed by simple rituals, by stories told and seen,
Easter morning stitches grace into the seams of what we mean.