Joseph and Mary
My saviour makes me weep with gratitude:
I am not worthy, yet he touches me
with watchful love and faithful certainty.
In his strong arms I dare to feel rescued
despite the storms that sweep across the lake
and threaten shipwreck; dare to feel secure
despite my wariness of love so pure,
a love that gives, receives, but does not take.
His hands are hard but gentle, and those eyes!
Sometimes they have a distant look, or stern,
as if annoyed with life, but then he'll turn
to me and smile and teach the sun to rise.
I breathe acacia as he strokes my hair,
my taciturn, beloved carpenter.
So cut the length and pray you're accurate.
Too long? A wasted labour - cut again,
Or shave the surplus wood off with the plane.
Too short? By Abraham! Incinerate
The wastrel! Firewood. The best acacia
Isn't cheap. It's small wonder I'm incensed!
A carpenter, you say? I'm unconvinced.
Well you might grin! You know I only tease.
So yes, that was the story of my day.
The temple, almost finished, and the youth
Not destined for my trade. And tell the truth,
I wouldn't have it any other way.
The home we share is happy. We've been blessed.
The main thing is you know I've tried my best.