For the Unresurrected

The Easter lilies, so immaculate,
Are stationed near the altar of a church
To mark the holiday that follows Lent,
Though jutting rusty anthers might besmirch
The noses poised to catch a lily’s scent
With what’s essentially ejaculate

Of floral grade.  There was a time when males
Below a certain age were dispossessed
Of gonads to provide cathedral choirs
With ample boy-sopranos.  You may rest
Assured that Hell reserves its fiercest fires
For mutilators, but this measure fails

To temper the immoderate behavior
Of florists who forthwith emasculate
Each perfect bloom to bar the orange stain.
While organs sound their pipes and clerics prate,
The lilies and castratos know the pain
That’s suffered for the glory of the Savior.

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Over the past eight years, hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Australia and India. He is inordinately fond of single malt Scotch whisky.