Of all women you are the most blessed.
And blessed is the fruit of your womb.
Above all men and women she is feted.
Her son liberated us from our silent tomb.

Almost rejected by her husband to be.
Witness to her son’s death by cruel execution.
A lady of sorrows, yet to her we plea.
Timeless witness to her son’s resurrection.

But doubt lingers as with stigmata.
Did she really rise to heavenly glory, body, and soul.
Can we always accept dogma.
Can we take the word of one man sole.

I do not know, I’m not sure I care.
But when I pray, I think she is there.