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Warm milk of mercy

Graces the soft breast of

Mother-God as she

Suckles the abandoned and

Binds the heart wounds

No balm in Gilead, but

Healing unguent aplenty 

Radiates from her soft touch

As gentle voice speaks to

Name the nameless

Frescos and façades crumble

To the wails of “Death! Death!”

Screeched from the throats of

Those who forgot themselves

In order to fit in

Yet there beneath the masks

Beats the trembling heart of an

Infant whose only desire is to be

Loved as he is, for he cannot

Be otherwise

Rocking chair softly squeaks

Divine lullaby pure and clear

Fills the air as warm milk

Flows from the breasts of 

Perfect pure love  

And at last, 

All is well

LRT 2022