Gathering the Shards...

Here are bits of thoughts that aspire to be a poem for Our Lady.

The Mirror and the Glass

A walking glass, the Woman was
A prism, motley hued -
Joy and Grace were colors born
Of an ever-radiant mood.

Until a mirror was thrust forth
Untimely and slyly wrought -
That cast the Woman's colors back
With one blinding hell-born thought.

Her image shattered, yet with hope
She caught a glimpse of One
Who, like a vessel, clear and bright
Could hold one Ray of Sun

And yet remain unbroken.
A new and exalted She
With a Word became a glass
By which all men can see.