Poem ‘At Cana’ by Lyndal Vercoe

And was She wearing blue that day, His Mother?
When She called Him to Her side to say
The wedding would be spoilt unless
He would vibrate the water in those casks because
I seemed the grape juice - which

Their hosts had spent all the last night treading-
Had been found depleted by this afternoon.

They say He hesitated for a pause to ask
Was this the moment which had always been appointed
And was His work, indeed, now to be done?
Under the shade of trellised vines
The Mother quietly looks at Her Son.
Perhaps they were smiling a little because they foresaw
How the point of the story would be misconstrued
And His blessing on weddings mistaken, in error, for wine.