As the nun descended
The stairs to the cloister,
Fingering her black wood
Rosary given by
Her mother, sensing the
Cold stone beneath her feet,
The hard brick of the walls,
She mused on the Christ who
Called her to cloister,
Who knocked once on the door
Of her cell, but had gone
By the time she opened,
As his footsteps echoed
Down the long years of her
Solitary life and she
His daughter, at the same
Time in the spiritual
Sense, His devoted bride.
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