Mary

And then the angel left her. She arose

After a while, and took the broom again

And wondered, as she swept, “was it a dream?

And what are dreams and what is waking life?”

She walked in dreams. How do you reconcile

The strange transcendence of another world

With baking bread and spinning wool for cloaks?

And why should such a being greet her thus?

And then she smiles an inward-turning smile

And cups her work-rough hands across her front

Protectively, as women always have

Who carry a new life inside their flesh.

………………..

Angels, it seems, do not give detailed plans

Of how and who to tell of such strange things,

But the necessity, the child within

Loosens her awe-struck tongue – this must be told.

It seems she walks in an unsolid place

One foot on earth and one foot in the air,

And round her head the secret angels fly

And round her feet the thorns and thistles tear.

She fears the scorn in Joseph’s honest eyes:

Must this, too, be yielded as the price?

But no, this mercy given wraps her round;

He knows she is the mother of the Christ.

And then Elizabeth, the one who knows,

Whose miracle blooms like a desert rose,

Richly endowing a gaunt barren place,

And tears of wonder water both their hearts.

………………..

And then her feet are turned to Bethlehem

As some far emperor she has never seen

Moves all the pieces round upon the board

Into a shape that is the will of God.

And soon now will the angel-hosts return

To bless the turning earth with peace decreed,

The while she carries, underneath her heart

The meaning and the answer to our need.