THERE WAS FAITH.

There was faith in
The moving of
The ebony
Wooden beads of

The rosary
Between finger
And thumb; the feel
There; the smoothness

From years of touch
And feel; the prayers,
The messages sent,
The arthritic

Fingers and bent
Crooked thumb, do
Not relent from
Harsh dawn till dusk;

The words; the sighs
And the old nun,
Gazing half-blind,
Into the cold

Sanctuary where
The altar light
Shines and the cold
Darkness creeps deep

Into her bones
And aging flesh.

THERE WAS FAITH.

TerryCollett

Horsham, United Kingdom

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