A conversation about Easter

I saw god the other day;
seemed to be doin OK.
Asked him “Hey god ow ya goin?”
“How’s the truth that is you flowin?”
He looked around and motioned wide,
“Is this the reason my son died?”
“These people have all lost their way,
don’t they hear a word I say.”
I said “It is a bit stuffed up,
your lot is now the vilest cup.”
“They call for death and use your name,
From what you built, it’s not the same.”
“They fight their wars and you they call
the biggest warmonger of them all.”
He stood there then and shook his head,
“Thank god my only son is dead.”
“On this, a day to celebrate
they’ve turned his name into a hate
that poisons now all that is true;
he gave his life theirs to renew.”
He left me then, I heard him moan;
a heavy heart from where we’ve grown.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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