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.