Lest the mother's eyes were forced to recite,
to her heart, in pain, her son's plight,
Thou led me out of her tender sight,
when my health had to bow to Destiny's might.
Lest my frame was tasked to lean,
on vacuum so cold and bare,
Thou carried me on Your arms unseen,
away from crowds, their words, their glare.
Lest Lonliness cradled my pain,
Lest its ways decieved my dignity,
Thou rested my self on a cradle whose twines,
were Love, Care, Warmth and Nobility.
A puppet I am, my strings, Thee wills.
Thy moves so Divine and full of Grace,
that when I have to fall to Destiny's riddles,
I find myself in Thy embrace.
