Saint Margaret's Day Poem by Martin Ward

I saw Saint Margaret's face
on traceries of stained glass.
Beautiful, in all her finery.

An English rose with ancestry
from King Alfred The Great
and educated in Hungary.

Fleeing England when William
The Conqueror came and claimed
her Saxon family's throne.

Their ship was blown off course
and found safe harbour in Scotland,
where her hand was kissed by Malcolm.

In Scotland, she found love
and her new husband-king found inspiration
from her Christian education.

Margaret built the Queen's Ferries
for pilgrims to visit shrines of saints
and holy places where they were buried.

She could never see children starve
in the cavernous glens or amongst
the clans' lands of purple heather.

That face: looking down on me
with purest piety gained from adoration
of Our Lady and The Catholic Church.

Grandmother of the Plantagenet Kings;
Margaret won Scottish hearts
and brings us hope of better things.

Saint Margaret, an earthly queen, come saint,
whose motherly traces guide us
towards another Kingdom and Greater Place.