AUGUSTINE REFLECTS.

A MONK REFLECT ON HIS YOUNGER DAYS.

Augustine shuts the breviary,
The sun warms the leather cover.
He walks the cloister, the sheltered
Enclosure and stares out at the garth.
Sunlight brightens the mulberry tree,
Brings on the flowers and shrubs in
The beds. Tendered them in his youth.
The mulberry grown; more fruitful.
Two young monks stand in conversation,
Their black habits caught slightly by a
Mild wind. No tonsure now, that token
Of separation from the world. He feels
His own thinning hair, caused by nature
Not man, no real tonsure. He stands and
Watches the monks. Their pale faces
Knowing no hardship or wear, unlike
The French lay brother peasant monks
He’d known as a youth with their humble
Ways and silence carried like a dark cloak.
They laugh their faces light up, some joke
Shared, some humour carried over from
The worldly ways. Different now, he muses
Moving on, unlike in my times, in my days.