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One Thousand At the Eleventh Hour

one thousand at the eleventh hour They come from afar through seasons bitten by frost across a mountain's pass deep in snow shout they all, " holy holy save us god" "wash our sins away, free us from the damned”. they dip into our well for healing catch each trembling drop upon crying supplicant lip, "holy, holy save me,” "the end is nigh,” "we hear the hooves cracking" see the signs even in the daytime skies. prostrate, rich and beggar charm the grotto with promises of money or servitude. monks and priests alike solemnly dash a throng of fear with blessed water scooped from a barrel behind the basilica.

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John Fleming

Date: 10/14/2017 2:21:00 PM

A very strange poem indeed, Patricia...most unusual! Even the reference to the "basilica" does not give much of an idea...apart from perhaps a pilgrimage of sorts? Reminds me very much of Nostradamus -- really quite intriguing! My very warmest regards. :) john

Patricia Cresswell
Date: 10/14/2017 3:07:00 PM

People lined up for blessing and to be sprinkled with the holy water.

Patricia Cresswell
Date: 10/14/2017 3:06:00 PM

You are right it is a pilgrimage of sorts. I believe it was in the middle ages when hey thought the end was near. The church was selling indulgences every pond became a holy well it seems.