Walking slowly,

Towards his feet.

Wants to touch him,

Needs to feel him,

The crowds push,

and shove her back,

The pain is great,

She falls, a smack,

Humbly, down on her knees,

With dirt on her clothes,

and hair full of fleas,

Crawling forward,

Starts again,

Tears come forth,

From deep within,

‘It’s him’ She knows,

She has to reach him,

Touch his robe,

and be healed.

Tears flow freely,

They can’t be stopped,

Some they see her,

And begin to mock,

‘See her there?,

She’ll never make it,

It’s futile girl,

You’re trying to fake it’,

‘Stand in her way,

don’t let her through’,

They whisper,

‘Don’t let her see the Jew’,

She hears their words,

But tries on still,

She reaches out,

Her strength fails.

But, between the men,

She finds the hem,

‘Just a touch,’

her tears do say,

‘Praise the Lord,

I’m healed this day’

Still on her knees,

She turns to go,

Not to disturb him,

but he knows,

The man stops,

and looks around,

The crowds are silent,

But gather ‘round,

‘Who touched me?’

‘So many people’,

The disciples see,

The woman heard,

and quickened her flee,

‘Who touched me?’,

he asked again,

Then he turns to see, defend,

A body, so close to the ground,

Makes its way without a sound,

Ne’er a word,

She stops in front,

Head towards the gravel,

Slow, unsure, her tale unravels,

‘I’m terribly sorry,’

She stutters and stammers,

‘Whatever for?,

There’s nothing the matter,

You believed in my power,

That’s all you needed,’

The Jew laid his hand on her head,

and she pleaded,

‘Certainly sir, b-but surely you,’

The man shook his head,

‘I’m more than a jew,

Your faith has healed you,

go now in peace,

but remember this day,’

And something more,

his eyes seemed to say,

The woman now looked up at the man,

His eyes let her know,

That he will, and she can,

Joyfulness filled her,

and stories untold,

She threw her hands to the air,

The people did stare,

But she didn’t care,

‘cause she knew the Lord.