The Statue

The children kneel beside the virgin’s feet,

The holiest of women.  There I wept,

Was it for joy or sorrow?  Then I stepped

Closer, in the ponderous August heat.

It was thirst.  Thirst and hunger led me there,

But I am flesh, and they are only stone,

Timeless, and I am tired to the bone,

Her arms open, but not for my despair,

Or empty belly, not from where she stood,

The portion of her love, not meant for me.

She gazed upon the others, lovingly.

I cried but was denied.  I understood,

That statues do not sense pleasure or pain.

Unlike her children, I will lose my youth,

A fool, kneeling by Mary’s feet, in vain,

For she is, stone, and cannot hide that truth.