December 18–24 ❘ Anna, a Prophetess
Anna, a Prophetess
I was blessed, really—
so many widows are left
with small children to feed
and no means to do it
but asking alms at the temple gate,
poor mites.
My husband was better than ten sons,
though he gave me none—
only affection and tenderness.
Wealth to keep me comfortable
after his death.
More empty time than I could spend.
I had enough to tempt new suitors,
hagglers over my loneliness.
But I didn’t want another husband.
Why try fate?
Instead, I did what other widows do:
went to the temple to beg.
And how I begged—
poured out my youth in prayer,
troubled heaven night and day
for some small morsel to fill my barren fast,
pled with a vengeance
for the Lord to hear me—
until today, after eighty-four years,
I heard Him
wailing in the courtyard,
over-tired and wriggling in his mother's arms.
Some days you see in an instant
how really blessed you are.
Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry
Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com
