A miracle of miracles is here.
Take off your shoes. This place is holy ground.
No man-child ours like that the shepherd found
By dreaming Mary when the Star burned clear.
Our God has given us a woman, dear,
With satin skin her dimpling shoulders round.
No pinkest shell with sea-blown bubbles crowned
Could match the marvel of her tiny ear.
How like to me, and yet ’tis you—all you.
I dare not touch her. Take your soul, My Own.
Set in my body with your mind, your sight,
Your dreams and thoughts with every promise true—
A queen to sit upon a regal throne
With a man’s soul won out of woman’s right.
Zora Bernice May Cross