Poem for Mary

I waited, wanting to see, 
was prepared to run,
and couldn't for unexplained weakness.
I was so young
when Mary laid hands on me.

No longer young, 
and I do have pride, 
but understanding my limits,
employed hand and tongue
when Mary laid hands on me;

now wait to see
what comes of love abated, 
if grief and pain,
should Mary never again
lay hands on me.