among the tall slenderness
of poplars framing my view
the poised spire on the home
of the Sisters of the Holy Cross
looks tiny
in its striving heavenward
I do not know
that poplars think of God
when they grow towards the sun
and every year bring forth new leaves
brave storm and droughts
survive
I do not know if the nuns are much concerned
about their spire’s minor reach
their rules are as clear
as their evening songs
floating across the garden
on moonlit winter evenings
their dedication is to care
and heal some of the human suffering
with love and prayer
or with magnetic resonance
in more contemporary ways
the poplars grow
and annually sprout new life
the nuns preserve
the frailty of human bodies
for after life
* * *
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
among the tall slenderness
of poplars framing my view
the poised spire on the home
of the Sisters of the Holy Cross
looks tiny
in its striving heavenward
I do not know
that poplars think of God
when they grow towards the sun
and every year bring forth new leaves
brave storm and droughts
survive
I do not know if the nuns are much concerned
about their spire’s minor reach
their rules are as clear
as their evening songs
floating across the garden
on moonlit winter evenings
their dedication is to care
and heal some of the human suffering
with love and prayer
or with magnetic resonance
in more contemporary ways
the poplars grow
and annually sprout new life
the nuns preserve
the frailty of human bodies
for after life
* * *
