Oh, what a son to have carried.

Oh what a son to have buried.

What a thrill

to have seen him rise,

To have seen first hand,

a believer never dies.

Joyful pain, tumultuous bliss.

Oh what a Son for a mother to kiss.

Conflicting emotions,

hard to believe.

Your Son is your Father,

What a concept to perceive.

Blessed womb,

Empty tomb.

Both bore forth a savior

Of unimaginable behavior.

To have held such a miracle

On a mother’s lap.

To have stroked his hair

And watched him nap.

Mother Mary, watching her son.

Knowing who he was, that he was the one.

Miracles unfold

and he is revealed.

The savior apparent,

No longer concealed.

Did she know of the cross?

Did she know the outcome?

Could she have imagined

His journey begun?

Oh, mother Mary,

What unimaginable joy.

To know we were all saved,

By your own little boy.

What joy,

what pride.

I can not imagine what

You must have felt inside

Dear mother Mary,

Thank you for your Son.

He brought us salvation

Where there would have been none.

©2006 J.L. Day