THE PRIEST

The Priest

I beheld the priest
In the cloister near the cathedral,
In his passionless passion,
Enjoying the gold of his marriage feast.
With Christ as his Bridegroom, the chiming bell
Did grandly knell from the heights of that holy bastion.
He walked with God in the tender wood,
Completely in love with The Trinity and brotherhood.
He wore a glistening vestment
Of purple and white.
And the turquoise firmament,
Cloudless and vibrant,
Was lit with a gleaming, celestial light.
He gazed up at its diamonds, surrounded by blooms
Comprised of chaste petals.
He was well acquainted with the mysteries
Of heaven's citadels,
And his spirit sailed across the seas
Which sighed with rapture to the sun.
He bowed respectfully to a devoted nun
Who was lost in prayer
As she passed him slowly with reverence
In the incense
Scented air.
Wide streams fell from a lofty mountain.
From the court of Mary rose a fountain.
The Spirit of gold struck me from a hill,
As the priest gathered roses and gave the nun a daffodil.
Then I ran to him with a beating heart,
As the sun's sparkling rays did descend and depart
Over the hill, kissing every dahlia, lilac and iris.
Silver-winged finches flew around him with a passionate flame.
And when I asked for his name
He whispered: "Saint Francis."