Mary, Mother of God

The little girl

dancing on the Temple steps,

too joyful to stand still.

Beloved little hands

that I see ageing through the years,

compassionate indefatigable workers,

weavers of the veil,

-my mother’s hands!

Mother,

my Constantinople,

my Rome!

My ancient little church

on an Irish shore,

cold black sea breaking below.

Candlefire procession

through Cistercian cloister-

the rose garden calls

monk and troubadour.

In the skull castle

chessplayers battle

while nightingales sing

through the valley below.