A peasant girl, new mother, lost

and tired,

Walks quietly in amidst the crowd,

the noise.

Bears one small taper, with its tiny


Unnoticed by the ones who gather close.


One breeze could end the light

before it shines

But husband hand, worn hard by

hammer blow,

Though rough, shields gently with

a fost’ring love,

And hopes to see this light

develop, grow.


Two figures move from shadow to

the light.

One knows he now can lay his burden down.

His waiting over, he has seen the


Which will repel the darkness,

light the throne.


The other; ancient woman, full of


Whose decades wait has drawn her to this place;

Finds movement pulsing in her

creaking limbs,

Her song renewed, this light floods

worlds with grace.