The Pilgrim Road 7 Poem by David McLansky

The Prioress Reflects (8)

How many years I've viewed this scene:
The snow-capped hills melt into green,
The cold sharp winds descend the hill
And lose their strength as daffodils
Peak from the ground their dancing heads
As roses bloom in hues of red;
How many years I've felt the chill
Of winter blasts relent their will,
Defeated, warm, and calmly fade
Into the bursting green leaf glade;
How many years have these old eyes
Watched darkness fade as sun did rise,
The purple realm of night to pale
As sun did light and night did fail;
How many years did these old bones
Rise from their bed to tread these stones
I see my slippered feet have worn
A path to parapet to pray at dawn;
My faith in God is like the sun,
That when I sleep, I know He'll come,
Releasing me from earthly woe
To bask within His eternal glow.




The Prioress' Foreboding (9)

In the distance, high on a hill
She heard a cry, both harsh and shrill,
A flock of birds rose from the trees
Ascend the sky, wheel in the breeze;
There on the road, just below,
She saw a group, a cart in tow;
She rubbed her eyes, squinted, peered
A group of pilgrims, still unclear,
Following a man who walked apart,
A donkey pulling, a burdened cart;
This common sight, a familiar scene,
Made her afright as if she'd seen
An army dot the distant hills,
A war-horn heard, wild and shrill
An army set on rape and plunder
Their beating drums producing thunder;
In the tranquil sun of morn
She sensed the coming of a storm