Cloister

Some days I wish I’d been a nun

Cloistered, curtained by the hanging

Green of trees, pale apple green, serene cloak.

Measured days and nights,

Paced from hour to praying hour.

No pride no lust no greed no lies,

No loss no gain no pain no strife,

But peace, pale apple green, serene

Soft poultice on the quick of life.

13 thoughts on “Cloister

  1. I hear you, Robbie. I honestly think community living isn’t a good thing. I grew up with that fear; it’s not easy to get out of its grip. Ah, maybe I should write a poem about that. Hmmm . . .

    Like

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