Upon the hand of him who holds no things,
A gracious dove may perch on empty palm.
But mind the man who grasps the wealth of kings,
By him ne’er shall be heard her grateful song.
Her praise was born with life upon the earth
When unbound man beheld his naked bride,
And Eden’s air rang with immortal mirth,
And Truth was near, and beauty never died.
But, fruit-snatched, God-spurned, bitter twist of hate:
About the dove’s frail form man closed his fist.
He killed her joyful song and passed shame’s gate.
Death-bound, he mourns; now empty hands he lifts.
O Adam’s son, give thanks: God heard thy plea;
Give thanks, the Son of God hast died for thee.
Image: Fra Filippo Lippi, Annunciation