Snow And Monks Mcmlxix Poem by Terry Collett

Snow in the garth
hanging on the branches
of the tree
like fingers of white
dea candidis,

the old monk shuffled
through ankle deep snow
cowled head bowed
hands hidden
in his black habit
wind moving about him,

Dei qui tollit
peccatum humilis
confessionis facit
Dom George said
quoting St Bernard
humble confessions
is the key he added,

white snow
on the window ledge
unspoilt untouched
et quasi virgo pura,

bell tolled heavy
bell disturbing snow
on the bell tower
rooks took flight
into the white sky,

parlare con Dio
the Italian monk said
lui ascolta,

I watched
the French monk
sweep snow from the path
long snow shovels
he moved,

un ange à votre coude
Dom François said
I gazed at my elbow
but saw no angel,

snow drifted across
the abbey like fleeing ghosts
twirling and twirling
round and round,

I read in the common room
a book on prayer
worn edges
aged sleeve
smell of damp and time,

Gott ist gut
the Austrian monk said
eyeing me
a small smile lingering
on his lips
I said nothing
but nodded slow,

after office of Sext
and lunch
I told the Prior
I would have to
pack my bag and go.