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Mystery poems

Nun’s Tale

Metal swung in counting time.

You could always hear the metronome,

given enough quiet time.


The beat played out

there in the ordinary movement -

A swish of heavy cloth

or footsteps along a corridor.


The quickening pace raised to ageing steps

each time-boards’ creak on sprung wood

sighed individually

according to each suffered weight...


We calculated her steps - counted in her coming.

Her Rosary so prayerfully hung

swung in beaded regularity

at the uphill climb and I wondered

was it enough - That Christian struggle?

The lone burden and sanctified life in the slog of tedious motion...                   

MtD 2017

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