What a weighty name
I must live up to!
A martyr and a saint
a widow and a mother
back in Roman Times
just as dystopian as our era
when Faith, Hope and Love
are tortured and burned over an iron grating,
then thrown into a red-hot oven,
finally into a cauldron with boiling tar
before bending their necks beneath the sword.
A grievous torture indeed to watch
the suffering of your daughters.
How could anyone
so little and small
like me be worthy of that martyr’s crown?