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Today, for readers' enjoyment, I'm including poetry by writer, Annie Hinstala.
Six novices dressed in black and white...
In the smoky incense, wafting, choking, lingering above our heads,Praying we kneeled, to Mother Mary for those long dead.
Six novices dressed in black and white,
Holding beads in fingers tight.
We prayed and rose, kneeled and crossed in turn
Dipping hands in holy water for those that burn.
We ate together every night,
Holding hands in fingers tight.
At vespers in our rooms we shared,
Our souls weren’t all we bared.
We rose for mass, confession and sacraments all,
Till the first white clad novice ran to fall,
She leapt away calling in fright,
Holding the wall in fingers tight.
Five novices rose for prayers, chores and tight lipped looks,
Hiding smiles, worries, laughter and all behind our books.
No words passed our lips in Mother's sight,
Whispered secrets in the night,
Then one morning there was a room left empty,
Two had fled and now there were only three.
As the day came nearer, the Bishop clearer,
All the innocence and freedom all seemed dearer.
So together we took flight,
Holding hands in fingers tight,
And I and Sister Bridgett with her soft hands,
Together ran away to distant lands.
Photo credit: clarita
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