The icon - poem

Here in this icon out of ancient Russia

Brown as amber the little Mother of God

Holding her Infant to her cheek

Is present to us

In all her wise

And peaceful sorrow

A forest hermit painted this

They say at night his face

Lit up the snow

And he befriended robbers

And very often

He gave the bears his bread.

COPYRIGHT 1994 Commonweal Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group