Saint and Virgin
They praise me as a Virgin, Lord
I am sorry to disappoint
But I am no virgin.
May I ask these holy men
By what do they set their mark?
I rejected earthly comfort.
That place was a shadowland to me
and I hung on the landscape like a
dangling marionette, uselessly beautiful.
There was no comfort there.
I never earned a love song.
Then they never heard the Poverello.
His words were fire and ice in my belly
ardently proclaiming Your Love,
That song drew me away.
Away from desire.
Rather like a maiden awaiting her first suitor
My heart paced in prayer for your presence.
Like a bride in the marriage bed
My soul ached for You to enfold me.
Never known a man.
Francis was my heart’s true friend.
Love given and received without guile or charge
the fulfilment of Your benevolent Love.
What physical act could compare?
But I have not borne a child.
Are they blind?
My daughters are with them still
Loving and faithful
I have raised them all.
So, they have given me a Church
and they have made me a Saint
For being a Virgin.
You had better tell these men, Lord
There are very few virgins in Heaven.