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The Innocent Strength of Grace


A street harlot sat, the child passed with his mother

the whore sunk, alone, in the corner

his innocent, inoculant eyes, suspended

hers cast in sight of his color

“Mother, Mother, why?”

sang the child’s little voice

but mother tugged his wrist

“Walk on, walk on boy.”


There they met, lover on lover

in the corner, in the twilight, in the evening

now she’s in the

streets, now in the

squares, every door, every corner seeing,

the brazen face with linens prepared,

myrrh, aloes, sprinkle her bed,

as bird hastens to snare,

and is captured there,

“Let us delight ourselves with caress.”

As an ox goes to the slaughter

there they met, lover on lover.


“Walk on, Walk on boy” the mother’s glance

A corner whore the boy runs to embrace,

In innocent grace, small hands hold

her breath shakes. Tears break,

“Let him be the first to throw...”

there they were left, her and Him, all alone.


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