The lake on Easter

Its water seems to have frozen Making the lake standstill as stone With translucent and rather peace While shores undulating the houses Together, are the carved sculptures With full of silent and full of tender For wind shaking the trees to visit The circumstances mysteriously made By no man walking on the streets Should a weekend start on Friday? No, if it hasn't been named the Easter Things are supposed to be bona fide For the case of humanity being reinstall For public goods, for bringing hopes to all