Sister Clara
Walked the cloister,
Gazed at the garth,
Suppressed a laugh,
Placed her small hand
Over her mouth,
Looked about her,
Something had brought
A memory,
The way sunlight
Had come upon
The green grass, or
Birdsong caught in
The ear's folds, or
The scent of Spring
Flowers breath, she
Couldn't say, or
Was it the fact
Of day, being
Alive, or sight
Of she and Sam
Spencer in vast
Memory's hold
Embracing in
The clover on
The high cliffs of
Dover, she dared
Not admit or own
To, but something
Brought the sun's light
Into her heart
And mind, but like
Spencer's kind kiss
And amorous
Embrace, the real
Reason for it
All has gone and
No more to find.
recommend this
email
print
link to this page
Comments: 7