T L C

Nine moons buoyant in your matrix, Silently alive in dark mystery, Unfathomable, unsurpassed - And so close to that heart - Skilfully, wonderfully, fearfully – Wrought in dark sustenance, Warmed by love par Agape, Then at water burst for will to breathe, You, on death’s borderline, that will to be, Blood, flesh, cords and life draining screams, To hear a cry and feel those limbs, When so and pain forgotten - Your eyes so eagerly search, That infancy, that joy unbound – So alive and more beautiful than: A thousand seasons of Spring, A stretching verdure of matchless flowers, A resounding harmony of singing birds, An unmatched beauty of anything beautiful, Tissue cut and then to suckle born free, Safe in your arms of strength as eternity, And only those arms can be - Tender, Loving, Caring - That even for the Tomb Born Logos – The Ancient of Days by Wisdom chose - To miss not this miracle – For deaths’ Conqueror to - In that secret place as yours to be – And she, Mary was deemed blessed – And yes! As much as she, so you too – Of all races, tongues and tribes – To you Tender, Loving, Caring ones My soul sings my spirit’s words – From a throbbing heart, Flushed by this miracle – “Woman you are beautiful!”