Fiat your kingdom, Mother, woven
in God’s mind, first pain, then the inner space
shining in the kenosis of its debasement.
Then, in the home at Nazareth,
a chosen virgin amongst the mothers of Israel,
You were veiled by the Almighty, thanks to your prayers.
The angel told you high sublime things and you
preserved his words in awe, within your heart.
This Son will be great, but a foe
will pierce him on his way to to endless victory.
How similar to you, elected woman in your sorrow;
but now not only are you in God’s lap
but He is himself in your own lap
as if to break a perverse trend:
from now on, you are the focus of history.