Mother Of Christ Poem by Ima Ryma

When I was a young child I found
An old and small wooden statue.
It was just laying on the ground.
'Twas the Virgin Mary that true
Did seem to speak of hope to me.
I took that statue with me home,
And kept it through my life to be,
When into fear and doubt I'd roam,
A listener as I would pray,
Supportive as a Mother would,
Not just a statue on display,
But a belief in all that's good.

Mother Mary hears prayers of mine,
Then speaks to me of hope divine.