Within the weighty door, weary souls went;
as did I as a child of eight, to the silent sentience within…
Upon the stoutest oak they sat, worrying beads.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,”
The penitants, the prayerfull, the pitiful, rock.
The innocent observations of childhood.
Inward stares, upcaste eyes, open hearts, rock.
“Blessed art thou amongst women...
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