THAT HEM:

When the Angel Gabriel came, to give you gladdened news,

That you were to be the mother of Christ, born among the Jews,

Were you kneeling upon the dust, maybe stone or weedy stem?

Was your delicate knee cosseted, by your hemp & roughened hem?

When you sat astride, that old donkey´s grey & welcoming back,

In Bethlehem that starry night, when all you had was in old sack,

Did that hem of your old blue dress, protect your sore & icy feet?

As from the lowly stable, you heard cries of lamb´s humble bleat.

When your little one with teary eyes, came to you for Mama´s love,

Was it your hem he clutched to dry his eye, looking up to you above?

And bending, did you take him up into your cherishing & loving arms?

And looking into his young eyes, did he win you over with his charms?

When your son, hanging upon judgment´s very unjust & cruel cross,

Among hurled stones, whips, thorns & sad words of senseless dross,

Did you dry your tears & his, with the hem of your soft worn gown?

Knowing, sorrow of all mothers, was deep enough in pain to drown.

And when you held his body, broken & then told, supposedly dead,

In your mother´s arms & heart, cradling his gentle & beloved head,

Did you then wipe with your worn hem, his battered & bloody brow?

And promise him undying love forever, mother´s ever sacred vow?

When you stand upon your dais, in every church of our old world,

Having forgiven man´s sorry sins & their hate, as stones so hurled,

As bending to kiss your feet, beneath your gown´s cold blue weft,

Do you feel your hem waft, beneath their penitent & sorry breath?