THE VIRGIN MOTHER
This
is the Virgin Mother. How young she is.
Only
as old as prophecy: seven swords ...
and
the Child for the rise and fall of many; [1] as
young
as the joy of mothering God. No words
On
her lips, but the eyes lowered to the Child in her arms,
And
children to the last generation of all.
The veil
And
hair blown back by desert simoom, the storms
Of
heat and sand swirling past the Nile.
But
everything is tranquil in this carven face,
This
woman’s poise, these cradling hands that hold
Redemption
like a Little One. Peace
Is
the triumph of faith. If the virginal
veil is belled
To
the winds, the heart is undisturbed. And
I,
Kneeling,
read this braille – wood, and know why.
Sister Maura SSND
Spiritual Life. 1959.
Used with permission
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