Monastery garden stands outside of time, no place for strife or conflict

Mary’s shrine, guards the names of loved ones, looking heavenward in her ramshackled glade

Moths and butterflies keep an eye on this season’s crop, the sound of small voices rallying to save limestone grass, these should be the battles that last

Sun casts his lonely eye to Moon, who gives her sad reply. “Everything is fragile if only they’d see.”

Copyright John de Gruyther 2019

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