Passion

You’ve seen the scenes in Spain, Madrid

Celebrating Easter there.

Meanwhile upon an English Street

You’ll hardly know it’s Holy Week.

English people lack the passion

Won’t process in Spanish fashion.

We’d feel so foolish on the street.

And cringe if neighbours we should meet.

We make a gesture on Palm Sunday;

The congregation forced from out their chairs.

Shuffling round the church half hearted.

Clearly wishing they weren’t there.

Glumly at the vicar’s bidding

Squirming, near the passing traffic;

They all stand; outside the church

Passive, quiet and undramatic.

They’ll nervously grasp their small palm cross

But will they wave them? ‘No not us’.

We’ll take them home without a fuss.

Displayed but nowhere obvious.

Good Friday some process the cross

But only if they’re very keen.

Much braver than the rest of us.

Who’d rather die than be thus seen.

The cockerel crows three times for us

But such is English nervousness

You won’t find us below the cross

For that would so embarrass us.