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Lent: A Poem


The Priest speaks, her hand moves,

‘Remember you are dust, and to dust you will return.’

I linger, pondering,

I am flesh.


The Priest speaks, her hands move,

A Sign of a Cross in ashen grey,

I linger, pondering,

I am flesh.


The Nurse speaks, his hands move,

‘Make him comfortable; his family gathers.’

Delirious, pondering,

I am flesh.


The Nurse speaks, his hands move,

A hand of comfort on my ashen grey skin,

Delirious, pondering,

I am flesh.


The Priest speaks, her hands move,

‘Our days are like grass; we flourish like a flower of the field.’

Silence, decay,

I am flesh.


The Priest speaks, her hands move,

A bow towards the ashen grey coffin,

Silence, decay,

I am flesh.


The King speaks, his hands move,

‘Behold, I make all things new.’

Peaceful awakening,

Out of the Ashes I will rise.


The King speaks, his hands move,

Wiping tears from my eyes.

Peaceful awakening,

Out of the Ashes I will rise.


-Swales




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