Early Easter morning,
All my children ran downstairs.
Looking for their baskets,
That we hid behind the chairs.
They would tiptoe to the chair,
Then slowly take a peek.
We knew that they had found one,
When we heard their voices shriek.
When it was all over,
And their baskets had been found,
They sorted all the candy,
As the family sat around.
My youngest, who was only three,
Came over where I sat.
She held her little arms out,
Then she hopped up on my lap.
"Daddy," she began to say,
"Love you with all my heart."
"I have so many goodies here,
I don't know where to start."
"There's chocolate bunnies, chocolate chicks."
"There's eggs and jelly beans,
And little candy eggs, a duck lays,
When she flaps her wings."
"Marshmallow peeps and colored eggs,
And chocolate that is white."
"I even have the hard boiled eggs,
We colored late last night."
"But, I have a question Dad."
"I heard it on TV."
"It wasn't in my basket,
I don't know where it could be."
"The man said, 'In our basket,
There should always be a section,
Where we should keep the memories,
Of Easter's Resurrection.'"
Then she held her basket up,
And said, "I've looked through these."
"What's the Resurrection, Daddy?"
"Would you tell me please?"