Volume > Issue > Sonnet III

Sonnet III

A POEM

By Marjorie Williams | December 1983

O Lord, what notion of hyperbole.

What willed and wild imagining was born

When Adam, hearing, woke in Eden’s morn?

For neither art Thou this, but this is Thee,

A spirit, soul, and body: one from three;

Though some in mortal bones see grief and scorn

I see the brittle frame You did adorn

With breath, You quickened mortal trinity;

The mirror of our making might be dark

But the image of the mystery

You told Reflects the light of knowledge in Your name

Enkindled in this self, Your infant spark;

For thus Your Word is given body’s mold

And body’s bones, like wood, to feed the flame.

Turning

“Alas, I cannot find my God,” Man said

Blind with seeking, all but garroted

By…

To Phoebe*

Phoebe,

Gentle handmaid

Of us all,

Who assisted Paul

And others

Of the early church,

…

The Hill Country

Take for instance Mary; she

shocked by some divine insistence.

Yet the experience of God,

…