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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