When she knelt at his feet
Producing cloth and polish for his shoes,
His heart rose with curiosity.
Senses awestruck as he studied
The way her hair draped carelessly
Like a silken banner,
Failing to conceal angelic features.
Her downward look of concentration
Seemed almost humble,
Offering a comfort discreetly
For she sensed his pain
And inner sadness.
And so, in his mind's eye
She became Mary Magdalene;
Washing his feet.
The cloth moving gently over the leather
Was seen in an instant
To be a gesture of tenderness
He had never known.
She worked in a silence
That hung heavy in the room.
As a warmth swept over his sorrow
He kept the tears from view
By staring above her head
At the clouds sailing past the window.
For in that timeless moment he realised
It was not his shoes
She cleaned and polished so gently;
It was his very heart.
