The Birth of Mary

Actually, it was I who was born under a star.
If you can call it that.
Devotion so calm, you could bathe a baby in it,
Until I was just old enough
To be given completely.
His words of gold filled my womb
With unripe yellow glory
That reduced me to less than lowly.
I was not magnified that day.

But I did not believe everything
That I would read,
And had two masters;
The mercy of the one I could not touch
Pulling the other away
In all my love and hope.
But he, too, was stabbed with glory,
And so stood in awe as what everyone
Had not known they wanted
Burst forth
In the agonising gift
We received from our mother.

With all thoughts in my heart
I knew then we were to flee.
But I had not yet seen the star
Which told me I would lose a son;
A pain worth hanging on many crosses.
But noone records
If I were allowed to break down.
I was only to be given another son.
But in that moment of hand-maiden strength,
My curtain torn,
My duties changed.
No longer had I to be His mother.
In His own darkness,
I was born Your Lady.