Author's Note

The following poem is one I wrote last spring around this time. I came across the Martin Luther quote on a calendar, and as I pondered all the parallels between the new life of spring and the new life Easter symbolizes, I began to wonder what it would be like to celebrate Easter in the southern hemisphere--when it marks not the new birth of flowers and trees and warmth, but their death. I did a little reading about Easter Island, off the coast of South America, one of the most isolated places on the planet. And this poem was born. Enjoy.