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

HIS PAIN

Oh my God the pain
when You contemplate our stain,
our hearts so closed, infected
all Your Love refused, rejected.

Oh my God the pain
when we profane Your Holy Name,
each time a curse falls from our lips
it is Your scourging with the whip.

Oh my God the pain
when we refuse time and again,
to take Your hand extended
so our hatred can be mended.

Oh my God the pain
to think Your Sacrifice in vain,
when we reject the cleansing flood
that is Your Redeeming Blood.

Oh my God the pain
when You see Your children’s shame,
as they kill new life You’ve given
before it ever can be liven.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Sept. 21,1993