AMAZING GRACE

Today
I went for a walk!
I saw a great golden tree
illuminated by the setting sun…
all shades of russet too!
and burning bushes red as fire!
I rustled through the heaps of autumn leaves.
Enchanting!

I watched the carefree ducks,
green heads glistening in the rays of the sun,
smoothly zigzagging across the pond,
rippling v-formations!
Delightful!

I met a woman in a flowing elegant dress.
escorting an elderly lady.
We stopped for a leisurely chat.
How sweet their smiles!

I watched a woman pointing a camera
At delicate tracery of bare branches overhead.
“What are you doing?”
“Capturing the pattern!”
Amazing!
Does God capture my bare beauty
with his photographic vision?
I wonder!

I stopped to gaze at sight of a fully grown man
on a scooter, coming with abandon down a hill,
followed by three young boys of varying sizes,
each on a scooter, following his lead!
What fun!

Thank you, O God of Beauty
for this most Amazing Enchanting Day!

Sr. Monica Sheeran fmsj

LET Me be but the Hem……

Let me but be the hem of His garment
lying in the dust at his feet.
I gaze, love abound,
a robe prepared for Him,
and Mary ponders.
Her little one,
so wounded, so caressed,
by mother’s tears.
By fathers fears,

I lie at His feet,
gaze up at His face.
The words won’t come,
and yet I know my place.
I am the hem of his garment
where tortured souls find peace in touching me.
I lie at His feet, adoring, and yet free
I am but the hem of His garment.

A seamless robe of grace
a gown of wondrous beauty
of patterns interlaced,
a baby’s robe she maketh
of softest swaddling bands.
What wondrous care she taketh
with her gentle woman’s hand’s
sewing each stitch with loving care
embroidering the flowers that blossom there.

They crouch in the dust,
they hide in the crowd.
they dare not speak their thoughts aloud,
but the woven robe that falls at His feet
pours out a fragrant ointment sweet
and His gentle mother’s love still flows
where the hem of His garment,
God’s peace bestows.

Sr. Maureen Maguire fmsj

Canada Geese

I watched a flock of Canada geese
flying in formation,
necks outstretched.
Magical in flight!

I watched a flock of Canada geese
coming to rest on the water,
gliding in unison.
Magical in motion!

I watched a flock of Canada geese
emerging from the pond,
walking on the earth
So ungainly in movement!

Are these the same creatures?

Why is it that in some situations
I am so clumsy, so awkward?
Yet at other times with friends,
filled with quiet certainty and ease,
I am a being of laughter and grace.

It seems to me that all living creatures
are at home in their own milieu
sharing their own gift with creation,
Yet all, no matter how wonderful,
have their own share of imperfections!

Sr. Monica Sheeran fmsj

The Pillow

Who was it that placed that pillow in Peter’s boat
For the Lord to rest his head on?
So thoughtful of them, so kind.
Whoever they were.

For boats are bumpy and hard,
Creaking and groaning like weary bones,
Rocked out of their sockets.

Had this same pillow bearer
Once washed his feet with tears
And dried them with the tresses of her hair?
Or was it Martha, concerned to make his life just that much easier?

Another woman, true likeness of his love
Would later come with towel to touch his face
And in compassion for his weariness
Have placed that pillow there?

A woman walks along the shore
Her shoulders once bent low.
Could she have placed that pillow there?
In gratitude to show
Her love for him who’d made her stand
Erect and tall her female form to know.

And now there comes to mind a child
A little girl of twelve
He’d lifted once her head

From pillow wet with parent’s tears
Could she have carried it from home
And paddling in the wavelets by the shore
Have lightly left the pillow with a smile
For him who’d just invited her to grow
Into a woman.

Or maybe twas that older one
Who hid her shame amongst the crowd
And stretching out her finger touched his clock,
The garment made in Nazareth by Mary.
His mother’s breast, so soft, so nurturing.
A pillow best of all on which to lay His head
In Peter’s boat, at peace
All turmoil ceased.

Sr. Maureen Maguire fmsj