She, a little lower than the angels
was sure of what she hoped for
and certain of what could not be seen,
and when she was weak she was strong.
Being an alien, she brought nothing
into this world, and will take nothing away,
even after being polluted by it,
even after it tried dividing her soul and spirit
down to her joints and marrow.
The flowers fade and the grass withers
yet prophetic messages and words
of exhortation are still written on her heart.
Who builds her house?
Can both fresh water and salt water
flow from the same spring?
She does not believe every spirit, but
only the one that makes her stumble,
the scandalous rock that makes her fall.
An idol not of bronze or gold, but the
cornerstone, a living stone
with the power to shut the sky,
to throw a mountain into the sea,
to give or take breath.
Although perseverence must finish its work
she now rests from her labors,
and does not neglect her gift.
What she sees is temporary,
but what is unseen is eternal
and it does not change like shifting shadows.
(a plagiarist poem))