The Monk’s Regret




I tire of chewing and drily swallowing

This bread of life, praising gratefully

Even this first crust.


Some weighty meal is mine, this day-to-day.

I adorn the habit and the cowl, despite

A dry-mouthed vow.


I weary, heels so tightly following

Which tread this path, taking faithfully

Even faith’s dead steps.


Done, with this: their fine, deserving way.

I scorn the orisons of all, and wait

For my last dust.




2 thoughts on “The Monk’s Regret

  1. This is a very moving poem, an intense regret. Peter would have appreciated it. Gran

    Sent from my iPad


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