May after May I see by candlelight
Above an icon that I kneel below,
Her head in shadow nodding left and right,
Most sweetly and discreetly nodding No.
Year after year I must agree to let her
Decide what to provide me for my good;
Pray as I may, I cannot ever get her
To grant what would be wonderful if she would.
Spring comes, and little birds make warble.
Snow thaws, but not Our Lady of the Snows.
Tapers I melt before relentless marble.
Poems I write from what to live is prose.
- Fr. Leonard Feeney, The Leonard Feeney Omnibus
