3 january 2012
MARY AT HOME
The sunrise finds you mending broken toys
For Jesus. Softly rouse him. You sing hymns,
Boil curds - then off he stomps with other boys.
The hills hint modestly of cedar limbs.
Blessed are they who shun the world's conceits,
Who never shrink from anonymous toil,
Who still shake out the sandy linen sheets,
Prepare unleavened bread, and olive oil.
A mother's love tells on tongues of true bells
From age to age in the Star of the Sea.
Chaste is the chalice where our Savior dwells
Fired with dominion and for you, Mary,
Who never waxed more flush than at the hearth;
Who supped the bosom bliss of planet Earth.
16 may 2024
1605wiesiek
16 may 2024
O TrinitySatish Verma
15 may 2024
1505wiesiek
15 may 2024
ToastJaga
15 may 2024
Studying LifeSatish Verma
14 may 2024
NonethelessSatish Verma
13 may 2024
I Write With Red InkSatish Verma
11 may 2024
Everything Is BlackSatish Verma
10 may 2024
Wielki wypasJaga
10 may 2024
Tangerines SingSatish Verma