Weary Mother of God, Pray for Us

I have to find my own labor-bed
Kings of the earth are too important
for the common mother

I will gather my own clean straw
Inn keepers are too distracted
to tend to a child

I am wrapping up my child in homespun
the family is far away. They
don't see the color of my newborn's eyes

His Father is unseen
The child comes from me
and the Wind of the Air

I suckle my son, the only warmth of the night
No husband can build this boy
a house which will hold Him

I am watching the days unfold
Men of influence are too self-absorbed
to acknowledge our life

My Father is unseen
This child comes to me
upon the Wind of the Air

I am strong with the hope I bear
The way of the world is not taught to me
who has yet to teach the world

I will intercede whether on tongue of prayer
Or by Just Peoples who answer callings
waiting unheralded



(The Anticipation of Christ crafts a song from even the loneliest of hearts)