In archaic stones, imposing structure,
A simple soul lived under
The mantle of artists great,
Close to Mother's Heart.

Out the door this simple heart
With stringed instrument did depart
From the convent walls,
On her way to choir loft.

At the transept, on bended knee*
A child waited prayerfully.
Innocent and unseeing,
Her red dress like a warning sign.

Small feet guided upon the steps,
Closer to the Divine Princeps.**
Above the shrinking pews below
The simple soul set her.