Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Why I Was Not Chosen

I could never have been the mother of the savior,
Not only because I'm not immaculate;
If any of Mary's trials had befallen me,
I'd have thrown a royal fit.

When I had to give birth in a stable,
I'd have been quaking in my fear.
I'd have never felt safe and protected,
With only my dear husband near.

When Herod came to kill the babies,
I certainly would have run.
Then and there I would have decided
What my son was not going to become.

The day he stayed behind in the temple,
When I finally found him there,
I'd of sent his dad in to scold him,
And drag him out by his hair.

When Pilot began torturing him,
And the apostles didn't save him,
I'd of been in there beating on them,
Calling them less than men.

The day he died, I'd have been
Screaming like a banshee,
Beating on the soldiers,
Until they set my man/child free.

Poor Mary, when her boy was thirteen,
She had to give him up to study,
Never to experience him,
Growing up to be her best buddy.

He never produced grandchildren,
Nor had the comfort of a wife.
No, I am surely not strong enough
To have lived Mary's life.

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