The mystery woman was an angel-
Unknown to all, until the farewell!
Issued solely by the Lord of Lords,
To resolve things that He abhorred.
In a move shattering the orthodox,
God created a marvellous paradox-
Of two completely opposing facts,
While still leaving reality intact.
She was the smoke, without any fire,
She was the chorus, without a choir;
Like a dream that fades upon awaking,
Like a stranger in the fog mistaking.
Quietly, covertly, did she contrive,
Like busy bees in their little hive;
But lived always in His secret room,
Undaunted by any difficulty or gloom.
She truly was here, yet also was not,
Sweet as the cardinal's first apricot;
The stronger reality, however, lingers-
Somehow she slipped through our fingers!