Lonely Nun Poem by James McLain

James McLain

James McLain

From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By

Lonely Nun



She stands alone and sounds the bell,
pulling up and down, 'the brown hemp rope
is which upon her tired calloused palms
ringing about it, 'he is quietly talking.
Lavender posies circle the church door.
The people calling out step into the light.
Coming in one stays too long and kneels in prayer.
Here the dark hearts in the phew redraw a cross
upon the wall, she depends upon.
The sounds are of those of whom and why.
One heart the nun, the sea out side the door
waves crash against the habit opens wide to see.
Spelling words of runes transcribed cuniform
which is divided closely holds it bound within,
Each one whom stayed pulls her up from the joy
and Latin warms the fireside and tears,
and those of the glory a white carnation is in bloom
opens you speak picking from the highest.
Still, as for the hollow quiet
and those you sound, from the grave the way,
when for them, I am while he your where, 'I do not know.
A chill should not be felt like the burning lamp, ' It has died.
The flowers bought and they are cut fresh brought up,
it reaches around and many are the morning glories
of the immortal stamp that stay behind
and before the final forgetting for which one enters with a sigh
watching the walls the stained glass window open wails
the habits left behind the heart that shines, is unattached.

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James McLain

James McLain

From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By
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