PIETA
She is immaculate
In birth,
In stone,
And in her sorrow.
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She was Chosen to
Give her son life,
To watch him suffer and die,
And to hold him in death.
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In the immaculate stone
Her suffering is eternal,
Her sorrow is eternal,
And that is the pity.
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A memento mori
That we all,
Come tomorrow,
Must suffer her sorrow.
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