As the wind blows,
Your wise brown eyes
Are covered by wisps
Of your brown hair;
You watch your
Little Maria,
Your saintly cherub,
Skipping away
With a smile;
Your finely furrowed brow
Is knitted in a knot,
As you are pensively
Waiting, wondering:
What does the Mighty One
Have in mind for my
Darling dark-haired daughter?
May the Messiah be on the move?