Heat beating, nervous, how will you be received?
You tentatively knock upon the waiting door,
How will they react to the life that you’ve conceived?
Will they question what you’ve come here for?
Your years are few, a tender maid, perhaps,
A bud not fully bloomed and yet in you
A seed is laid that one day will climax
Upon a tree and there be proved so true.
And on that day all questions will be yours,
The sky turned black, your future darkened too.
Will it have been worth it, the struggle and the toil,
This life the angel invited you to choose?
But opening the door your cousin’s pregnant too
With joy the unborn child leaps in her womb.

A sonnet for the ‘Feast of Visitation’.
(02.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Linford Miles on Unsplash