Thursday, 21 August 2008



She, in her own flesh,
Enfolded the holy thing
Awaiting its birth.

Motherly, she swathed
The Child, lovely to God,
In the warm swaddling bands.

More treasured that gold
She wrapped in her mind
Words, prophecies, actions.

Though she was not among those,
Brother and sister and mother,
Embracing Him in their circuit,

His time come
She stood beside the cross,
The sword entering her soul.

She saw the dank tomb
Enclosing in harsh rock
The linen‑swaddled body.

Proof of His glorified life
Soon she forever enshrines
The Holy Spirit of God.

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