GALILEAN MAY

GALILEAN MAY                                                                                  

                                                           

Into the hills of Galilee                                                                      

Our Lady went one day,                                                                       

lured by the wonder-woven bloom

dropped from the looms of May.                                                                        

                                                                                         

Slim lilies leaned to touch her gown,                                                     

curving through delicate air,

a fledgling thrush flew to her hand,

butterflies to her hair.

She told a secret to the winds

that brushed her garment hem –

the tear-wet, pitying winds that blew

up from Jerusalem.

And as she spoke a little Name,

whispering low and sweet,

a golden surf of buttercups

broke against her feet.

The winds and flowers of Galilee,

grown wistful of her face,

still wait her footfall at the May –

gentle and full of grace.

Sister M Thérèse

Give Joan a Sword.  1945

Used with permission