A mother like all other mothers
 

In an old empty church I met Mary,

Her head bowed in what appeared to be prayer,

But as I approached, I could see at a stroke,

She was crying and in some despair.
 

I at first felt my caring unwelcome,

I stopped and I tiptoed away,

But she turned and she said ‘please don’t

Leave me, I’ve a story to tell if you’ll stay.’
 

There’s a draught in a church of sweet flowers,

No disguising the faint smell of dust,

But beyond all the incense and candles,

There’s a scent in God’s house based on trust.
 

Her plight had begun in the Autumn,

Pain persisted through winter and spring,

And now on a warm day in summer, it

Poured out from the storm clouds within.
 

**

'The best thing I have done in all my life

Is to give birth to a child. but I am

Ahead of myself’ she said, calming a little

And taking my hand, ‘you are a good soul,

She continued, many have passed this way

Today, but only you chose to stop and for

That I am truly grateful.’
 

**

‘Do you not know me?’ she asked in a voice

Increasingly distant. Suddenly, the air cooled,

And through an unexpected summer chill

She went on:
 

There’s a place in my heart ever vacant, a

Pain that will not go away, through the

Passage of time, the pain did not subside,

Though it’s two thousand years to the day.’
 

‘I am Mary the mother of Jesus, the one

At the foot of the cross, a mother, like

All other mothers, who weep for the

Children they’ve lost.’
 

© Joseph G Dawson