by Peter Gallaher
One girl in the church today
Had her hair in a long thick braid
Resting on her back midway
To her slim waist.
Her woolen skirt a plain gray-green,
Her top a kind of winter pink
In subtle modest shade
She genuflected on right knee
In the center aisle quite properly.
Entering the pew she knelt, and prayed.
She seemed in all modesty a bride
And one imagined her Groom beside
Her, while her father knelt in prayer.
A handsome youth, ruddy as they say, there
At her side he stood easily, and smiled.
Young shepherd, prince, or king, he asked, beguiled
By her natural innocent beauty,
“Maid, do you know who marries thee?”
“I do, my Lord. I know you well.
You are my Lord, Jesus, Emmanuel.”
