Pieta Poem by James Phillip McAuley
Pieta
A year ago you came
Early into the light.
You lived a day and night,
Then died; no one to blame.
Once only, with one hand,
Your mother in farewell
Touched you. I cannot tell,
I cannot understand
A thing so dark and deep,
So physical a loss:
One touch, and that was all
She had of you to keep.
Clean wounds, but terrible,
Are those made with the Cross.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
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4/26/2024 3:36:12 AM # 1.0.0.1119
