The Bedecked Eggs of the Paschal Fest

I don't care if the impoverished used coffee grounds,
Or onion skins by each eighth-pound,
Don't care if frugal friends color eggs green with grass,
Or the neon likeness from the likes of PAAS,
Neither intricate pysansky I care about,
Or the adhesive foil from kits, once out.

I bedeck eggs, usually with less strife,
The speckled deceased's blood on new life,
The egg spotted with Precious Red,
Representing the blood of He who was resurrected,
The living Eucharist, a paschal lamb,
Makes me a prouder Roman Catholic, as I always am.

On a secular note, I dye
Eggs in blue as the paschal, cloudless sky,
Green as birthed lawns of front doors,
I think of motley-colored ideas, maybe even more,
Lent is over - spring is here,
Eggs dress in fashion this time of year.

Let me draw a crayon cross on new birth,
Bathe in the blue dye which I'll immerse,
Wipe the excess and let dry for Christ's love,
Admire the grace this craft's made of,
I'm done with that egg, and last but not least,
I revel in the colors of a Sunday paschal feast.