Photo used by permission. https://armstreet.com
She was stone and clear water flowed in shoots,
fountains of joy came from beneath her hands:
her figure, the sacred image of lands
where the Catholic tree spread its deep roots.
A vision: Fatima appeared in woods;
walkers visited her white marble bands,
the gown that was as mystical as sands
shifting in the desert. The light that should
disperse over her form and the ’spiring pines,
would glimmer in her unseeing white eyes,
and her earthly blindness unveiled the sight
of a thousand angels, ready at signs
of her distress. To her side and her sighs
of pity—the revealing of the light.