Mary-Patrice Woehling

I must believe that You rose from the deadFor if You didn’t, then what hope is thereTo raise me from the gutter of despairOut of the sod from which we all were bred?Made in Your image, when we forfeitedOur innocence in Eden for a shareOf knowledge, we were suddenly awareThat we were naked, doomed . . . . Continue Reading »

My Lady, Queen of Heaven, Queen of Earth,I weave for you a crown of white muguet.Delightful, fragrant, quiet bells of mirthI twine for Mary garlanded in May.Madonna, Fairest Flower of the Field,Of all God’s glories born from basest clay,A Lily of the Valley, Love revealed,I weave for you a rapture . . . . Continue Reading »

On Halloween we shouted “Trick or Treat” And held out plastic pumpkins for our loot. We’d say our thank-you’s nicely and we’d scoot To neighbors’ houses farther down the street. November 1 we would be off from school; We’d sit in heavy sweaters hearing Mass For all the saintly dead who . . . . Continue Reading »

Each year I shroud them in their bubble wrap, The kings next to the shepherds and their sheep. The donkey’s head lies in Melchior’s lap; I settle them for their long winter’s . . . . Continue Reading »

I am the maid of Lady Claudia. She’s not an easy mistress, but she’s fair. I smooth her mantle, fix her fibula, And pin her pearls into her piled . . . . Continue Reading »