June in Assisi

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Flocks of swifts circle today
As they did eight
hundred years before
White doves nest in their ancient dovecotes
As in the days when Francis preached to them
Brother lark, humble and joyous
Sings the same songs
That once delighted the ears of the Poverello
The broom is a golden now
As it was when Clare was shorn
Of her golden locks.
Sharp thorns of brambles
Catching at feet and clothing
Lavender full of humming bees
Sunflowers turning always
To Brother Sun
Rippling fields of wheat
All are the same
and in me beats the same human heart
That blazed in Francis breast.

Sister Swifts,
May I too be faithful and vigilant
Returning again and again to Primordial Mind
May I fix my gaze, Brother Sunflower
On the True Person shining like the sun
Beyond the dark.
With a mind radiant as broom
Fresh as lavender
May I dwell, Sister Dove
In the ancient ways
Of peace and loving-kindness.
Brother Lark, may I too be small in wants
And great in praise.
Father Francis, Poor Man of Assisi
May my fire of ardour burn as bright
My love for all creatures be as vast
May I walk as humbly
In the city of steel and asphalt
As you among the crags and thorny paths
Of Umbria
And may I, like the ripening fields of wheat
Offer myself as food
For hungry hearts.


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    This page contains a single entry by Alakananda Ma published on November 16, 2010 10:00 AM.

    A Dream on the Occasion of All Saint's Day was the previous entry in this blog.

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