What a Waste
Blind from birth she saw the light,
but no darkness in her soul,
broken, guided, hands outstretched
but her faith had made her whole.
Self taught and skilled with hook and thread
her handicap no bind,
plus literate, she learned by rote, and knew
her worth, her mind.
Child of parents Protestant, eagerly took the word,
paid pennies to the readers of her Bible, gladly heard.
At odds with the high Church on points doctrinal
she was tried, sentenced to hang over the flames
rope maker's daughter died.
Thus cruelly taken in her prime, her age just twenty two,
her Martyr's grave unknown, but place of death
now given to a Church of the religion that
she'd found herself at odds
in a time when gross intolerance blocked
so many paths to God.
R.I.P Joan Waste of Derby, 1534-1556
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
