Mary's Perfume

She did not wait for tomb or stone,
but came while breath was still her own.
With tender hands and silent grace,
she touched His feet, not His face.

A vial broke — the room was filled
with sweetness none could bottle or build.
She spoke no word, but love was there,
in perfume rising through the air.

Judas scolded, silver-eyed,
but love had nothing left to hide.
The cost was high — and gladly spent;
her heart, her oil, her worship went.

The Song had said: His name is poured,
like fragrant oil the soul adored.
And so she poured — and so He knew:
a crown of scent, before the dew.

Let others wait till death has come —
she crowned Him early, and was done.
And now her name, like perfume rare,
still lingers soft upon the air. — John 12