Winter-still afternoon, Irish farmlands, cold,
Clouded skies, first snow flurries fall, gentle
Flakes, covering frozen earths. Crucifix-
Clutched to breast, hood pulled over head,
I, Sister Muriel, am lost in prayer to Mother
Mary, conversations, hopes, concerns spoken
Aloud, celebration of Christ’s birth, pagan
Withering-end-of-year festivities approach,
Both have meaning to Ireland, within our
Blood and bone, ancient rituals reside.
Sunrise in morning mist, winding trail, deep-
Wood disappearing, pagan girl, reckless heart,
Received vision of Christ, divine words heart-
Searing: “Follow Me.” Calling as sister in new
Faith, born-again I was, my path guided at
Every turn, serving those in greatest need:
Hungry, sick, and dying. Weakness of human
Flesh, strength of immortal soul, sorrows,
Heavy burdens overwhelming, my prayers
For help, Mother Mary answered.
Thus, Holy Mother has been with me, her
Presence always felt, voice clear-ringing,
For she has known grief, weeping, Christ’s
Crucifixion. On this winter day, hand-carved
Mary I carry, face of quiet grace, dear as the
Cross. With morning prayers, I recite aloud,
“Let love be my guide.” Lighted cottage window
I perceive, smoke from chimney rising, I say
Another prayer, for I, too, am in need, hearth
Fires, sips of tea, on this snowy winter night.
For those who are sick and weary, special thanks for reading.
To learn more about Sister Muriel, see this link.