Passion Of Mary Poem by Gabriel O. ÒshóDavies

As the holy Thing within starts to grow
Your plight is how to let your man know
That you have never two-timed him
And that in you there is no infidelity,
But who would believe your story
Or your claim of seeing God’s glory?

Everywhere rumors now abound,
And those that the stories astound
Spit at the mention of your name,
“How can she be so shameless?
Unto one man betrothed,
By another man unclothed.”

But while on your plight you ponder,
And he considers with you to sunder;
Yet not in a way to humiliate you,
Nor to expose you to public ridicule;
God to him a divine agent sends,
So you and the babe he now tends.

Your God is your babe, your babe your God,
And the now tiny hand shall hold the divine rod
By which all of His creation shall be governed;
Who’s like you in being so divinely honored?
This moment a manger becomes God’s Throne,
And your mortal hands rock the immortal One.

Unbeknownst to you, foes on their way
The tender king now seeking to slay,
You will take flight to a land unknown
Thereby saving the Savior of the world
And one day after the passage of 33 years
For him you will shed many bitter tears.