Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The little I suffer now seems, at times, much.
But what agony do I have that can compare
to the most perfect woman cradling, like a newborn babe,
the corpse of her son, the son of God?
— the opening stanza of Hasten, a poem I wrote in May 2009; it seems fitting for today, the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows #
