Third’s the Charm

A Father forged my DNA,
Design his most divine caprice,
But kept the form he’d built at bay,
And wept no tears at my release.

A Savior then adopted me,
And bless’d — no more from grace apart —
I worshiped him on bended knee,
But martyr’s thorns still wreathed his heart.

A Ghost who sought my mother’s hand,
Yet deigned, as well, to raise her child,
Breathed silent words, which — far from grand—
Inspired such strength each time he smiled.

While Father wrought and Son redeemed,
I deem that Ghost my most esteemed.

Mindy Watson

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Mindy Watson would be pleased to hear them.