pysanky poeym

pysanky poeym

each spring when all the flowers bloom and eastertime is nigh

tradition calls for eggs and wax, for kistkas and for dye

for folks to spend a day just having fun creatively

an afternoon of laughter and sublime camaraderie

“pysanky” is a word that isn’t easy to pronounce

but past its tricky name is all the stuff that really counts

when people whom you know and then some others whom you meet

decide to roll up sleeves and join in this communal treat

soon all the candles flicker and the work gets underway

there’s warmth to melt your worries; stress floats off without delay

with each successive line or dot or accidental smear

ideas become reality and magic can appear

for there amid the tea lights something special might occur

(i know that those who’ve felt it will undoubtedly concur)

it’s not about the drawing on the eggs, though that is swell

it’s not about wax dripping and then glooping on a shell

it’s not about the pattern or the depth of your design

it’s not about the pizza or the prizes or the wine

it’s not just arts and crafting – that’s a part but not the whole

of something deep within you painting colours on your soul

pysanky is the twinkling that you get inside your heart

it’s all about the you you share through tiny works of art

it’s sitting down and playing around and something you create

that goes beyond the kistka strokes or all the pie you ate

like life, it’s in pysanky that the following holds true:

whatever you put in is what it gives right back to you

and when the eggs are finished, if you look you’ll surely see

the spirit of each artist on display so beautifully.

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© yepimawriter 2012