Scribe's Journal

Delighted to the bundle of joy a woman who births,
In agony of sorrow the fruit of the womb anticipates,
Of care & love thus woman knew little end;
Such blessed the woman knows only to give.

How did a young sought such destruction?
Bitter sweet do not take me wrong;
Woman knows one when the Father has gifts,
How did a young sought much healing?

Young to the lad, weightly took heed,
Ordained to lead, gifted to speak,
Lit are the ways Father is seeked,
Pure of those hearts, how could I remind?

Part of the boy, the other a man?
How it could be, a thorn went steep?
Dreams were the days, old are the ways,
Sense to the none; nay, they are not! not even a way.

Castle named charm, fortress called sleek,
Ladies to the amount romped in deep,
Fresh acquaintance hollers pride,
Quickened heart why to no despise?

Hush, hush quickened heart,
Thought of every moonlight,
A hope for lass of my youth,
Gracing dove-like knowing not soon.

Regarded not but to the follies of past,
Pierced are the hearts lest it should last,
Knew not the tears what the ear had heard;
Acts to the fool that heart knows hurt.

Commited are so that foolish ways,
Lead him as so dear Father I pray,
Taught my heart, let it come to past;
Commited so be it my ways, Jesus henceforth my part.

The fruit of such woman's womb now breaks in pain,
Forgive done his ways, forgiven thus my days,
I'm sorry.