The Tree They Call Mary

I saw the tree they call Mary, and stopped my walk to tarry. Known as a shrine for the people, to worship without a steeple. I kneeled and started to pray, finding it was a special day. For the lady appeared to me, shimmering starlight I could see. Surprised at the beauty she had, being neither happy nor sad. On a turntable, she would move, her face like one seen in the Louve. Yet as she was slowly turning, her look turned to one of yearning. Then changing to alabaster, the face of the Holy Master. At first look, it seemed he had horns, no, it was but his Crown of Thorns. When the vision was all over, white as the cliffs of Dover. Then when I was finally passed, I would hope to meet him at last. When the image of which I raved, might say to me that I was saved! date:8/30/22 (a true story!)