In The Dark of The Night

In the dark hours of the night,
In a city that stirs tirelessly,
The first flakes of the season,
Rain down unendingly.

Here a woman walks,
A bundle held tightly to her chest-
With the air of a broken down empress,
And an expression of fervent unrest.

Her bundled babe is silent like the grave,
And the woman quickens her step.
Stopping, she stares at a plain, coarse door.
Knock, knock…silence resounds.

In the dark hours of the night,
In a city wary of travelers,
The woman waits; steps from within can be heard.
A head emerges through the door.

Bright light exposes the symbol that adorns her arm-
She bears a sign: a scarlet letter.
The man scoffs at the one who’s in need-
He believes he, himself, is better.

That a woman would dare the atrocity-
The sin, the misdeed of immorality-
He shakes the incorruptible head he holds high,
And shuts the door with ‘righteous’ superiority.

Alone with only the bitter wind as comfort,
The woman lets one small tear break away.
“If only my child I could protect,”
To the God above she does pray.

Mechanically she walks to the end of the street,
Without hope she knocks at the last home she sees.
And a young woman answers the door instantly-
Shocked at the sight of the lady who stands in the winter freeze.

“Help my child” she whispers, through lips turned dark blue,
Her earnest supplication is heard by open arms.
The child safe and warm- the woman surrenders,
To the cold welcoming arms of deaths awful charm.

The young untainted woman closes the door,
“What is it Mary?” her husband asks.
She smiles through tears that streak down her face,
“The Lord has given us our answer.”

Though wealth was uncommon to the couple,
And life was a struggle each day,
They had prayed for child to rear lovingly,
And this woman had answered in God’s own mysterious way.