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I'm currently in an interesting correspondence with a nun about forgiveness.

quote by Julian Clary
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Nun in FRiar Small-Bro's Grave... Yard

The midnight clings to dwarfish kings
While robot drones, adorning thrones,
Kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard.
Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box
Grace FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The diplohacks, in melting wax,
Are swept along, a thriving throng,
Just dying for a life...guard.
And Nun, alone, has beached their bones
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Beyond the streams, a raven screams
At loser fish that swarm and swish;
Nun gently drips her dreams...jarred.
There are no thanks along the banks
Of FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles
The hierarch obeys his bark;
His maw is oozing pure...lard.
He tells you who and what to do
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Well, FRiar's pets are in a sweat;
He calls the tunes near burning dunes
And taps his cloven feet...charred.
They roast in rooms within the tombs
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

His myrmidons, they drool and fawn
While chanting verse near FRiar's hearse -
Extolling, wild, the van...guard.
Remote controls promote the trolls
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With faces straight, in bent debate,
They compromise their empty lies
With any passing re...tard.
Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With ghouls, unlearned, no stone's unturned,
They burnish blame with Nun's proud name
And leave the midnight sky... scarred.
They raise their hats to copy cats
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The rumours spread amongst the dead -
Nun marks the place with saving grace,

[...] Read more

poem by Terry O'Leary
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The Heart Of The Matter

I got the call today, I didnt wanna hear
But I knew that it would come
An old, true friend of ours was talkin on the phone
She said youd found someone
And I thought of all the bad luck,
And the struggles we went through
And how I lost me and you lost you
What are these voices outside loves open door
Make us throw off our contentment
And beg for something more?
Im learning to live without you now
But I miss you sometimes
The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, Im learning again
Ive been tryin to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think its about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you dont love me anymore
These times are so uncertain
Theres a yearning undefined
And people filled with rage
We all need a little tenderness
How can love survive in such a graceless age?
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
Theyre the very things - we kill I guess
Pride and competition
Cannot fill these empty arms
And the work I put between us
You know it doesnt keep me warm
Im learning to live without you now
But I miss you, baby
And the more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought Id figured out
I have to learn again
Ive been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But everything changes
And my friends seem to scatter
But I think its about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you dont love me anymore
There are people in your life whove come and gone
They let you down you know they hurt your pride
You better put it all behind you baby; life goes on
You keep carryin that anger; itll eat you up inside, baby
Ive been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter

[...] Read more

song performed by Don Henley
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Holy Grail

From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done
In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale,
Whom Arthur and his knighthood called The Pure,
Had passed into the silent life of prayer,
Praise, fast, and alms; and leaving for the cowl
The helmet in an abbey far away
From Camelot, there, and not long after, died.

And one, a fellow-monk among the rest,
Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest,
And honoured him, and wrought into his heart
A way by love that wakened love within,
To answer that which came: and as they sat
Beneath a world-old yew-tree, darkening half
The cloisters, on a gustful April morn
That puffed the swaying branches into smoke
Above them, ere the summer when he died
The monk Ambrosius questioned Percivale:

`O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke,
Spring after spring, for half a hundred years:
For never have I known the world without,
Nor ever strayed beyond the pale: but thee,
When first thou camest--such a courtesy
Spake through the limbs and in the voice--I knew
For one of those who eat in Arthur's hall;
For good ye are and bad, and like to coins,
Some true, some light, but every one of you
Stamped with the image of the King; and now
Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round,
My brother? was it earthly passion crost?'

`Nay,' said the knight; `for no such passion mine.
But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail
Drove me from all vainglories, rivalries,
And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out
Among us in the jousts, while women watch
Who wins, who falls; and waste the spiritual strength
Within us, better offered up to Heaven.'

To whom the monk: `The Holy Grail!--I trust
We are green in Heaven's eyes; but here too much
We moulder--as to things without I mean--
Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours,
Told us of this in our refectory,
But spake with such a sadness and so low
We heard not half of what he said. What is it?
The phantom of a cup that comes and goes?'

`Nay, monk! what phantom?' answered Percivale.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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In Dark Shadows.

the pepper pot

towards the nun
on her right.

The salt follows
once more given

a gentle shove.
To understand

another’s need
without them asking,

an elderly nun
had said.

A nun is reading
from a high desk

in the refectory.
Some book on Cromwell,

a life, back whenever when.
She sips her soup,

the French soup spoon
held in her right hand.

The nun on her left
passes the water jug.

Offers to pour.
Sister Felicity nods

and smiles.
The nun pours

a liberal amount
then puts down the jug.

Opposite an elderly nun
dribbles soup,

her shaky hand
missing the target.

Nan did that.
How can one forget?

[...] Read more

poem by Terry Collett
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I'd Love To Do A Nun Just Like You

There is none like you
No one else can touch my heart
Like you do
And I could search for
All eternity long
And find there is none like you

There is none like you
No one else can touch my heart
Like you do
And I could search for
All eternity long
And find there is none like you

Your mercy flows like a river wide
And healing comes
From your hand
And suffering children are safe
In your arms
There is none like you

There is none like you
No one else can touch my heart
Like you do
And I could search for
All eternity long
And find there is none like you

There is none like you
No one else can touch my heart
Like you do
And I could search for
All eternity long
And find there is none like you

I could search for all eternity long
And find there is none
There is none like you
There is none like you

1991 Lenny LeBlanc

My rewrite of the song above, There Is None Like You by Lenny LeBlanc

Hey Sister, sweet sexy little Sister
Holy little Sister
I'd like
I'd really like to do a nun just like you

Oooh

[...] Read more

poem by Ramona Thompson
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Forgiveness

Forgiveness is an act that works through God;
Forgiveness is an act of God in man;
Forgiveness is the work of God’s great love;
Forgiveness is an art that man must learn!

Men with good sense will restrain their anger;
Such men defer their anger for long times;
To forgive transgressions is man’s glory;
To hold one’s tongue is done by people smart.

Forgiving is an act almost divine;
Forgiving is something not all can do;
Forgiving someone is too tough at times;
Forgiving fully is done by just few!

To preach is easy; forgiving is tough;
Forgiving is an honor of men wise;
If God should forgive us, we must forgive;
Like God, we must be slow to anger too.

‘Forgive those who sin against us, ’ tells Christ;
To gain God’s forgiveness, we must then, first;
There is no limit to forgive someone;
Forgiveness is a virtue Jesus taught.

One who forgives has no revenge in heart;
One who forgives has no hate from the start;
‘Forgive and God will forgive you, ’ says Lord.
Forgiving plants the seed of love of God.

When all are sinners, forgiveness is prime;
By doing so, we gain the love of God;
Through forgiveness, our tolerance will grow;
For prayers to be heard, forgive right now!

A man with grudge is like a fruitless tree!
Grudge can stand in-between you and heaven!
Spare no occasion of forgiving men;
Judge not others but show mercy on them!

We turn like God when we forgive others;
Forgiving earns more souls for God, brothers!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-13-2009

poem by John Celes
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Forgiveness!

Forgiveness is the sweet fruit a tree giveth,
Forgiveness is that energy, a fruit to its eater giveth,
Forgiveness is the milk a cow giveth,
Forgiveness is the light, that burning candle giveth,
Forgiveness is the life, the world giveth,
Forgiveness is rain that the clouds giveth,
Forgiveness is that natural, the one understood nature giveth,
Forgiveness is the perfume of selflessness in one spredeth,
Like sunlight in winter,
like moonlight in dark,
Like cool breeze in summer,
Like oasis in a desert,
Like spring of pure love, from a pure heart forever springeth!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Psalter

ONCE more permit me, nuns, and this the last;
I can't resist, whatever may have passed,
But must relate, what often I've been told;
Your tales of convent pranks are seldom cold;
They have a grace that no where else we find,
And, somehow, better seem to please designed.
Another then we'll have, which three will make:--
Three did I say?-'tis four, or I mistake;
Let's count them well:-The GARD'NER first, we'll name;
Then comes the ABBESS, whose declining frame
Required a youth, her malady to cure
A story thought, perhaps, not over pure;
And, as to SISTER JANE, who'd got a brat,
I cannot fancy we should alter that.
These are the whole, and four's a number round;
You'll probably remark, 'tis strange I've found
Such pleasure in detailing convent scenes:--
'Tis not my whim, but TASTE, that thither leans:
And, if you'd kept your breviary in view,
'Tis clear, you'd nothing had with this to do;
We know, howe'er, 'tis not your fondest care;
So, quickly to our hist'ry let's repair.

A CHARMING youth would frequent visits pay,
To nuns, whose convent near his dwelling lay;
And, 'mong the sisters, one his person saw,
Who, by her eyes, would fain attention draw;
Smiles she bestowed, and other complaisance,
But not a single step would he advance;
By old and young he greatly was admired;
Sighs burst around, but none his bosom fired.
Fair Isabella solely got his love,
A beauteous nun, and gentle as a dove,
Till then a novice in the flow'ry chain,
And envied doubly:--for her charms and swain.
Their soft amours were watched with eagle-eye:
No pleasure's free from care you may rely;
In life each comfort coupled is with ill,
And this to alter baffles all our skill.

THE sister nuns so vigilant had been,
One night when darkness overspread the scene;
And all was proper mysteries to hide,
Some words escaped her cell that doubts supplied,
And other matters too were heard around,
That in her breviary could not be found.
'Tis her gallant! said they: he's clearly caught;
Alarm pervaded; swarms were quickly brought;
Rage seemed to triumph; sentinels were placed;
The abbess too must know they were disgraced.

[...] Read more

poem by La Fontaine
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A Ballad, Shewing How An Old Woman Rode Double, And Who Rode Before Her

The Raven croak'd as she sate at her meal,
And the Old Woman knew what he said,
And she grew pale at the Raven's tale,
And sicken'd and went to her bed.

Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed,
The Old Woman of Berkeley said,
The monk my son, and my daughter the nun
Bid them hasten or I shall be dead.

The monk her son, and her daughter the nun,
Their way to Berkeley went,
And they have brought with pious thought
The holy sacrament.

The old Woman shriek'd as they entered her door,
'Twas fearful her shrieks to hear,
Now take the sacrament away
For mercy, my children dear!

Her lip it trembled with agony,
The sweat ran down her brow,
I have tortures in store for evermore,
Oh! spare me my children now!

Away they sent the sacrament,
The fit it left her weak,
She look'd at her children with ghastly eyes
And faintly struggled to speak.

All kind of sin I have rioted in
And the judgment now must be,
But I secured my childrens souls,
Oh! pray my children for me.

I have suck'd the breath of sleeping babes,
The fiends have been my slaves,
I have nointed myself with infants fat,
And feasted on rifled graves.

And the fiend will fetch me now in fire
My witchcrafts to atone,
And I who have rifled the dead man's grave
Shall never have rest in my own.

Bless I intreat my winding sheet
My children I beg of you!
And with holy water sprinkle my shroud
And sprinkle my coffin too.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
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Sister Elly Ann

Religious garb is never a guarantee
Some wear robes just to look pious
But they are not what they seem to be
When their actions reveal what is obvious.

Such is the character of that disturbed nun
The principal of my daughter's high school
Who went by the name of Sister Elly Ann
She had the bad temper of a raging bull.

One day the students were given punishment
For one reason or another by this nun
All the girls in one class to the streets were sent
Out to walk in the seething heat of the sun

In one long line walked the poor young students
At the noontime heat of thirty-three degrees
Around the block and then back again
Until some of them fainted, some fell on their knees.

When they passed our apartment I saw my daughter
Her faced was flushed red from dehydration
That nun met her match in this angry mother
And without much ado I made my confrontation.

Complaints from parents had started to pour in
And this Sister Elly Ann could be sued in court
So the school had no recourse but to just give in
And transferred the erring nun with a bad report.

This is a true story that happened in my daughter's school, College of the Holy Spirit, 1994.
-

Recently, a 9 year-old girl died after running three hours straight as punishment from her grandmother. Some of us fail to realize that discipline does not mean corporal punishment or physical harm. On the contrary these may produce hostility and bring doubts in the mind of the child as to adult's responsibility and the child's self worth.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Sister Alphonsa (Aug 1910 – July 1946) From Blessed One to Saint

The cradle of Christianity
In India is Kerala-
Where Saint Thomas, the Apostle
Set foot, two thousand years ago.

The fourth child of father, Ouseph,
She lost her mother, Mariam,
When she was just three years of age,
Remaining sick, all through her life.

‘Be a nun, my child’- were the words,
A Carmelite nun said to her:
These were engraved within her heart
Of love for Jesus Christ, till death.

She did not want to get married;
She chose to be a nun in life;
So, burnt her leg in live ash-pit,
To prove her wish to follow Christ.

She joined the Franciscan Convent
Of Clarist nuns and took her vows;
She suffered pain all life in bed,
But offered it to Jesus Christ.

With pain and agony, she lived,
Self-mortified a life for Christ;
Her suffering had turned all joy,
When love of Savior, filled her heart.

She suffered from malaria,
And Tuberculosis and ulcer;
Some doubted her piety too;
But in the end, just truth triumphed.

A robber attacked her by night,
And left her bleeding and upset;
She died when just thirty-seven;
Of double pneumonia illness.

A one-year boy of Kottayam
Was cured of his deformity,
When parents prayed over her tomb,
Starting a string of miracles!

Beatified by John Paul II,
In 1986 itself,
She wrought miracles numerous,
For devotees who prayed to her.

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Frühlingsglaube (Faith In Spring)

Die linden Lüfte sind erwacht,
Sie säuseln und wehen Tag und Nacht,
Sie schaffen an allen Enden.
O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang!
Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.
Die Welt wird schöner mit jedem Tag,
Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag,
Das Blühen will nicht enden.
Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal:
Nun, armes Herz, vergiß der Qual!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.

Faith In Spring

The gentle winds are awakened,
They murmur and waft day and night,
They create in every corner.
Oh fresh scent, oh new sound!
Now, poor dear, fear not!
Now everything, everything must change.
The world becomes more beautiful with each day,
One does not know what may yet happen,
The blooming doesn't want to end.
The farthest, deepest valley blooms:
Now, poor dear, forget the pain!
Now everything, everything must change.

poem by Johann Ludwig Uhland
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The Convent Gardener Of Lamporechio

WHEN Cupid with his dart, would hearts assail,
The rampart most secure is not the VEIL;
A husband better will the FAIR protect,
Than walls or lattices, I much suspect.
Those parents, who in nunneries have got
Their daughters (whether willingly or not),
Most clearly in a glaring error prove,
To fancy God will round their actions move;
'Tis an abuse of what we hold divine;
The Devil with them surely must combine.
Besides, 'twere folly to suppose that vice
Ne'er entered convent walls, and nuns were ice.
A very diff'rent sentiment I hold:
Girls, who in publick move, however bold,
Have greater terrors lest they get a stain;
For, honour lost, they never fame regain.
Few enemies their modesty attack;
The others have but one their minds to rack.
TEMPTATION, daughter of the drowsy dame,
That hates to move, and IDLENESS we name,
Is ever practising each wily art,
To spread her snares around the throbbing heart;
And fond DESIRE, the child of lorn CONSTRAINT,
Is anxious to the soul soft scenes to paint.
If I've a worthy daughter made a nun,
Is that a reason she's a saint?--Mere fun!
Avaunt such folly!--three in four you'll find,
Of those who wear the veil--have changed their mind;
Their fingers bite, and often do much worse:
Those convent vows, full soon, become a curse;
Such things at least have sometimes reached my ear
(For doubtless I must speak from others here);
Of his Boccace a merry tale has told,
Which into rhyme I've put, as you'll behold.

WITHIN a nunnery, in days of yore,
A good old man supplied the garden-store;
The nuns, in general, were smart and gay,
And kept their tongues in motion through the day.
Religious duties they regarded less,
Than for the palour to be nice in dress
Arranging ev'ry article to please,
That each might captivate and charm at ease;
The changes constantly they rang around,
And made the convent-walls with din resound.
Eight sisters and an abbess held the place,
And strange to say--there DISCORD you might trace.
All nine had youth, and many beauty too:
Young friars round the place were oft in view,
Who reckoned ev'ry step they took so well,

[...] Read more

poem by La Fontaine
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The Spectacles

I LATELY vowed to leave the nuns alone,
So oft their freaks have in my page been shown.
The subject may at length fatigue the mind;
My Muse the veil howe'er is still inclined,
Conspicuously to hold to publick view,
And, 'mong the sisters, scene and scene pursue.
Is this too much?--the nicest tricks they play;
Through soft amours oft artfully they stray,
And these in full I'd readily detail,
If I were sure the subject would not fail;
And that's impossible I must admit,
'Twould endless be, the tales appear so fit;
There's not a clerk so expeditious found,
Who could record the stories known around.
The sisters to forget, were I to try,
Suspicions might arise that, by and by,
I should return: some case might tempt my pen;
So oft I've overrun the convent-den,
Like one who always makes, from time to time,
The conversation with his feelings chime.
But let us to an end the subject bring,
And after this, of other matters sing.

IN former times was introduced a lad
Among the nuns, and like a maiden clad;
A charming girl by all he was believed;
Fifteen his age; no doubts were then conceived;
Coletta was the name the youth had brought,
And, till he got a beard, was sister thought.

THE period howsoe'er was well employed,
And from it Agnes profit had enjoyed;
What profit?--truly better had I said,
That sister Agnes by him was misled,
And store of ills received; misfortune dire
Obliged the nun more girdle to require,
And ultimately to produce (in spite
Of ev'ry wish to guard the fact from light)
A little creature that our hist'ries say,
Was found Coletta's features to display.

GREAT scandal quickly through the convent ran:
How could this child arrive?--the sisters 'gan
To laugh and ask, if in an evil hour,
The mushroom could have fallen with a show'r?
Or self-created was it not supposed?
Much rage the abbess presently disclosed;
To have her holy mansion thus disgraced!
Forthwith the culprit was in prison placed.

[...] Read more

poem by La Fontaine
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See Thru

No apology necessary shut your mouth
Youve closed your mind
Weve been walking this road forever
It dont lead to paradise
In the mirror your sad reflection haunting you
Now I see mine
Yes I see mine
And you just dont get it
But you just might regret it, you might regret it
Shooting the rainbows from the sky
Throwing your love to passers by
Begging forgiveness for your crime
Never prepared to do your time
Its always them and never you
cause youre so see thru, I see thru you
(cause youre so see thru)
Aint no use in demanding justice
Youre a victim of your sight
I held you up when your heart was heavy
Now you never give me mine
In the mirror my sad reflection haunting me
One more time, one more time
And you just dont get it, do ya?
But you just might regret it, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Shooting the rainbows from the sky
Throwing your love to passers by
Begging forgiveness for your crime
Never prepared to do your time
Its always them and never you
cause youre so see thru, I see thru you
(cause youre so see thru)
Shooting the rainbows from the sky
Throwing your love to passers by
Begging forgiveness for your crime
Never prepared to do your time
Its always them and never you
Boy youre so see thru, I see thru you
(cause youre so see thru)
You just dont get it, no you just dont get it
You just dont get it but you might regret it
You might regret it
Shooting the rainbows from the sky
Throwing your love to passers by
Begging forgiveness for your crime
Never prepared to do your time
Its always them and never you
cause youre so see thru, I see thru you
(cause youre so see thru)
Shooting the rainbows from the sky - youre so see thru
Throwing your love to passers by

[...] Read more

song performed by Culture Club
Added by Lucian Velea
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Put Yourself On a Diet of Love

Put yourself on a diet of love.
And recognize the meaning of forgiveness.
To strengthen and not weaken.

Put yourself on a diet of love.
And recognize the meaning of forgiveness.
Through the week and over the weekend...
No matter who may think you're freaking!

Put yourself on a diet of love.
And recognize the meaning of forgiveness.
Recognize the benefit,
Of a happiness exisiting.

Put yourself on a diet of love.
And recognize the meaning of forgiveness.
Only you can testify of Sunlight on the horizon.

Put yourself on a diet of love.
And recognize the meaning of forgiveness.
To strengthen and not weaken.
And declare your peace of mind,
Has come to satisfy your needs.

Put yourself on a diet of love.
And recognize the meaning of forgiveness.
You will find a peace of mind,
Has no time to search for enemies.

Put yourself on a diet of love.
Get rid of nitpick nibbling.
Put yourself on a diet of love.
Get rid of nitpick nibbling.

You will find a peace of mind,
Has no time to search for enemies.
So...
Put yourself on a diet of love.
Get rid of nitpick nibbling.
Put yourself on a diet of love.
Get rid of nitpick nibbling.

Put yourself on a diet of love.
Through the week and over the weekend...
To strengthen and not weaken,
Your needs.

You will find a peace of mind,
Has no time to search for enemies.
So...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Moment Of Forgiveness

Well i guess that i was lonely
That's why i called you on the phone
Cause in a moment of forgiveness
I didn't want to be alone
And i guess that i was willin
More than i ever was before
Cause in a moment of forgiveness
I come a knockin at your door
Baby i woke up crying last night
Just to realize that you were gone
Has it been two long years without you
Tell me now
When are you gonna come home
Guess that i was hoping
That you'd finally understand
And in a moment of forgiveness
You'd reach out and take my hand
Now baby i know
Your not one for bearing witness
(baby i know)
And you told me that
One wrong move is gonna sell you out
(one wrong move)
And i see that you kept your word
(see that you kept your word)
And made it harder than it had to be
Wish i could save you the trouble baby
(oh oh oh)
Give you a little piece of mind
Baby i woke up crying last night
Just to realize that you were gone
It's been two long years without you
When are you gonna come home
Guess that i was hoping
That you'd finally understand
And in a moment of forgiveness
You'd reach out and take my hand
And in a moment of forgiveness
You'd reach out and take my hand

song performed by Indigo Girls
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dont ask my forgiveness

Dont ask for my forgiveness.
Dont say youll wait for it.
Becuase I shall tell you.
This only once.
Youll get my forgiveness
When hell freezes over.
Youll be waiting a long time.
You dont get my forgiveness.
Oh no you dont.
Dont kid yourself.
Are you all there in the head?
Forgiveness I cant give.
I dont offer it to you.
Why should I make you feel better?
To hell with that.
If your feeling guilty
Thats you problem not mine.
You dont deserve forgiveness.
Ask me again
And I'll be waiting with a knife.
For my protection.
Forgive you
Yeah right
Dont make me laugh.
I depise you all.
Forgive you no.
Shove it up your arse.
You thick twatt.

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Wer Im Wartesaal Der Liebe Steht

Du und ich hatten unsre zeit
Ist es nun am ende doch soweit?
Kann es wirklich mglich sein?
Unser himmel war wolkenlos
War das alles eine tuschung b
Und du lt mich nun allein
Und nun strzt der himmel ein
Wer Im wartesaal der liebe steht
Wei, da es um alles geht
Und man fragt sich nur
Wie wird das noch enden
Wer Im wartesaal der liebe steht
Hofft es ist noch nicht zu spt
Alles wird sich vielleicht zum guten wenden
Alles wird sich vielleicht zum guten wenden
War das etwa de endstation
Und ich merkte einfach nichts davon
Hab ich mich denn so geirrt?
Was zu tun war hab ich getan
Jetzt kommt es auf andre dinge an
Niemand wei was mit uns wird
Woh der weg uns fhrt
Wer Im wartesaal der liebe steht
Wei, da es um alles geht
Und man fragt sich nur
Wie wird das noch enden
Wer Im wartesaal der liebe steht
Hofft es ist noch nicht zu spt
Alles wird sich vielleicht zum guten wenden
Alles wird sich vielleicht zum guten wenden

song performed by ABBA
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde

The Bell in the convent tower swung.
High overhead the great sun hung,
A navel for the curving sky.
The air was a blue clarity.
Swallows flew,
And a cock crew.

The iron clanging sank through the light air,
Rustled over with blowing branches. A flare
Of spotted green, and a snake had gone
Into the bed where the snowdrops shone
In green new-started,
Their white bells parted.

Two by two, in a long brown line,
The nuns were walking to breathe the fine
Bright April air. They must go in soon
And work at their tasks all the afternoon.
But this time is theirs!
They walk in pairs.

First comes the Abbess, preoccupied
And slow, as a woman often tried,
With her temper in bond. Then the oldest nun.
Then younger and younger, until the last one
Has a laugh on her lips,
And fairly skips.

They wind about the gravel walks
And all the long line buzzes and talks.
They step in time to the ringing bell,
With scarcely a shadow. The sun is well
In the core of a sky
Domed silverly.

Sister Marguerite said: 'The pears will soon bud.'
Sister Angelique said she must get her spud
And free the earth round the jasmine roots.
Sister Veronique said: 'Oh, look at those shoots!
There's a crocus up,
With a purple cup.'

But Sister Clotilde said nothing at all,
She looked up and down the old grey wall
To see if a lizard were basking there.
She looked across the garden to where
A sycamore
Flanked the garden door.

She was restless, although her little feet danced,

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
Added by Poetry Lover
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