The Cross.
The Cross.Gentle was her face in quiet repose
That lady with the cross that bore my name
Her passing would not for me the book to close
That chapter bearing witness to my shame.
Oh mother dear shall I ever cease to cry
Too late I found those words long hid to me
I never knew one dark night you would die
and never know the love I felt for thee.
The cross you bore came from that twisted wood
and not your forest fair and oh so green
It grew from sapling tainted with his blood
and not your seed, so strong, so straight, so clean.
The cross took root, too soon a hybrid thing
Some branches to grow ever in his shade
His foliage dark and nettled quick to sting
While yours dear mother sought that sunny glade.
You sheltered me from cold and stormy wind
and watered me with tears of love and pain
You forgave me with understanding when I sinned
Blind to his ever scathing, remorseless blame.
And so I write these words too long unsaid
In hope to ease this sorrow within me
And though you be gone from me now so long dead
It was your love altered my sad destiny.
Brendan.
Poetry by Brendan Finbarr Tully
Read 1005 times
Written on 2006-03-08 at 01:00
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