The Monastery

Above the monastery wall,
in open cobbled courtyards fall,
enchanted dust in streams of light,
invited by the spires of white;

like opaque pillars shining down,
they touch upon the robes of brown
abandoning their tiny rooms,
to move amongst the fragrant blooms.

Their autumn gardens--intertwined
with orchards ripe and vineyard vines,
bear heavy fruit, as harvest nears,
reflecting dew from arbor tiers;

and gathering what nature yields
the monks bring baskets from the fields,
until the songbirds take their leave--
the earth lay bare and left to breathe.

It’s through this measurement of time,
along with daily belfries chime,
their faith in God won’t break or bend,
with lives to till and hearts to tend.