The beads against my fingertips -
Braille to soothe my tortured soul.
My mantra murmured low,
With my head bowed,
And my eyes half closed.
Hail Mary! Full of Grace!
Sterling Jesus hanging into my lap
The Lord is with thee...
While I sit below the window
Of my room without a view,
My supplication is fervent,
My devotion is blind.
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb...
Jesus! (Sweet Jesus!)
I am determined to confront
The decades of my life
With the decades of my rosary.
Holy Mary, Mother of God
Through these ancient words in meditation
My iniquities are cleansed away.
Like a rose the sweet smell of forgiveness
Permeates my senses.
Pray for us sinners...
I petition for plenary indulgence
And I pray for grace.
Now and at the hour of our death...
(Until the hour of my death)
Amen.
©2002 poetheart