Author: Lisa Graas, assisted by Grok.
Beneath the shadow of the Cross, she stood, The Mother of our Lord, in silent pain,
Her heart, a sword had pierced, as it was told, By Simeon, in the temple, once again.
The sky grew dark, the earth beneath did quake, As Jesus hung, His sacred body torn,
Mary, in her grief, did not forsake, Her Son, her God, from early morn till morn.
"Oh, my Son, my light, my life," she cried, In whispers soft, her voice a mournful prayer,
"How can I bear this sight of you, who died, To save us all, with love beyond compare?"
Her tears, like holy water, fell to earth, Blending with His blood, the price of sin,
In this moment, sorrow's deepest worth, A testament to love that lies within.
She stood, a statue of maternal love, Her gaze fixed on His face, so pale, so still,
Yet in her heart, she knew, beyond, above, He'd rise, fulfill His Father's holy will.
Oh, Mary, at the Cross, your grace we see, Your strength, your faith, your love, a beacon bright,
Teach us to stand with you in agony, To hold to hope through darkest day and night.
For in your sorrow, Mother of our Lord, We find the way to love, to hope, to trust,
That death is but a door, and not a sword, Through which, with Christ, we rise from death from dust.