Like Easter Lilies
The sisters passed
in the garden
on the way to chapel,
their heads bowed,
their voices hushed,
faced concealed
by wimples
stiff as cones
in the twilight.
The evening bell tolled,
peaceful and reverent
as an affirmation,
ancient
as the stone walls
dressing in their habits,
as brides donning green.
Soon all was quiet;
no more rustling
of fabric.
Impoverished and chaste
their prayers went
to God,
these obedient daughters
of charity.
Straight-backed
in their rude pews,
their heads bowed
still further,
they gave thanks
for a beauty
of which they felt themselves
undeserving.
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
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