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Marguerite Bourgeoys Sets Out

Did she hesitate at the door,
blanch at the shrill whirr of the wind?
Did the fire in the grate,
the soft flicker of the candles,
draw her to themselves?


What did it take for her
to push against the heavy kitchen door
and step out to snow and gale
and wintry solitude?


What made her stride so firm,
her eye so focused,
her determination a buffer
against the storm?

 The power in this woman
draws me like a magnet;
I cannot look away.
She lures me from the shelter
of false comforts
into the maelstrom
to set my face into the wind
and dare to follow
as she scatters
heartfuls of hope