The first Mary I knew was just a young girl, not much younger than I now, but she was a miracle.
Mary gave the new world it's light, but to many, she was the light

The next Mary I came across was a saint. A misunderstood soul who adjusted her way of life and followed the man who had saved her half way across Europe, and never looked back.

It must've been years until I encountered another Mary, but by then I was convinced that only angels were given that sacred name, and oddly enough, she confirmed my allegation.

Mary had wide eyes and a curious mind. Every wondrous thought to ever leave her conscious and slip her lips was nothing but pure goodness.
Each phrase, whether it be of love, comfort, or humor, resonated with every one of those who were in ear shot her voice. She was sugar, curiosity, and rain.
And with a smile and laugh as contagious as her's you couldn't help but wonder about her.

I believe in angels, and I'm glad mine is a Mary.