Abbey Musing Mcmlxx Poem by Terry Collett

I walked the cloisters
smelt the incense
listened to the birds sing,

discamus aliorum merita
cicatricesque cautio
saith Jerome
Dom Charles said,

the old monk sliced
a thin slice
of brown bread
with slow deliberateness
as if he prayed
as he sliced,

I hoed the flower bed
at the back of the abbey
sun on my shoulder
shadow playing
before me,

l'ombra giocato prima di me
I told the Italian monk
as we sat peeling potatoes
in the cloister after Terce,

dans le cloître après Terce
that time I hoovered
the cloisters
deep in thought,

nel pensiero profondo
I mused on that death
and the after affect
and how it hurt me,

mi ha fatto male
the Italian monk said
to relate that my uncle
was one of Benito's followers
but we all make errors,

tous font des erreurs
to err is human
to forgive is divinus
the monk thin
and haunted looking,

I opened the breviary
and read
moving my finger
following the chant
in my ears,

the sky dark
sprinkled stars
I mused on
Pascal's fears.