Monday, August 13, 2012

Poem: by Margaret Clitheroes

The Christ-ed beauty of her mind
Her mould of features mated well.
She was a woman, upright, outright;
Her will was bent at God.

She caught the crying of those Three,
The Immortals of the eternal ring,
The Utterer, Uttered, Uttering,
And witness in her place would she.