The name perplexed me—cotton Easter—
For the plant did not bear red as the stain of blood,
Heralded not suffering in foliage luscious,
Hinted not at resurrection in drooping limbs.
Cotton Easter lays softly on the mind,
Peaceful and blissfully supine,
Without crosses and nails and moral shims,
That seek to align, demean and shame us,
Or drown our spirits with vengeful flood.
Eisegesis of true paradise in simple misreading: cotoneaster.
Causes Michael Warren Supports