FOREST FLOWER.

TWO MONKS AND A YOUNG NOVICE IN 1971

He goes to Rome
tomorrow,
the young monk,

tall, clothed in black.
I shake his hand
as other do

by the refectory door;
she opens herself
to me

like a forest flower
even in
my holy sleep.

The old monk
turns in his dying,
the church bells

chime him
the hour
in a steady peal.

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

I am forever bound to these stories, Terry!

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Kelly. That is the cloister I was a novice in.

[Kelly Scheppers]

The archways are gorgeous! Did you do any writing there? It looks quite inspirational to me.

[Terry Collett]

I started to write poetry there. Love the place still; went there with my wife to see the abbey church.