Candlemas
Beewise we gather our wax all year
From bramble sorrow and thistle tear, Briar sadness and spine of pain:
Bitter flowers that bloom again! But deadest winter brings a day
When thorns have lovelier bloom than May; When candles are fashioned and lit by One
Who fashioned her wax to be lit by the Sun, Then watched her Candle burn: the price
Of sin-consuming sacrifice. Today she shares the Flame anew
To make us priest-and-victim too.
And Mary-mothered flames and Flame
Live their sacrificial Name.

John D. Boyd S.J. The Sign - February 1947