YOUR MOTHER’S KNEE

My Jesus, how I long to be
so little, on Your mother’s knee,
where with her sweet and tender lips
like the pinkest roses, words do slip..

Into my ears that ever want for more
the words that You heard years before,
that waft on breath so dewy fresh
that speak of love and tenderness.

To reach up to her lily-cheek
caress its softness, then to peek,
into her mother’s eyes so blue
where love’s fire burns for me and you.

To press close to her throbbing heart
in its cosy warmth, may I never part,
it will soothe me with its grace-full rhythm
and I will know I’ve gone to heaven.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Sept. 28, 1993