From the gold realm she smiles,
That mental mirror, warm, unchanging
Paradise where she has always lived.
They know her, even though her name has changed
From time to time. Now the candle light
Reveals her like themselves when young,
Holding in hope the baby who might not survive,
The son who soon enough will go
About his father’s business, war or
Just in charge. Hail semper virgo, she
The burning bush, some essence in themselves
They long to cling to even as the shadows lengthen,
As they labor at the loom and stove,
As they bottle blood today for wine tomorrow.
O dulcis, clemens, pia: bear with us,
Et macula non est in te.
--Patrick Mizelle
No comments:
Post a Comment