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To Monk . . . ')

To Monk :roll:

To Monk, or not to Monk,
That is the question.
Rain, wet and drippy down,
running onto the dewey ground.
Moment of wonder, wandering,
falling like raindrops, laundering.
The color of brown so lovely now,
a ring of hairless 'notches bow.
Fatherless fathers, dig in the dirt,
planting turnips round their girt.
Missing several little ones cries,
while melodious baratones rise.
Alone, away, unending retreat,
in damp sills puddles meet.
Uncertain, unsafe, motive and flower,
Blossoming light guide this hour.
Shrouds and folds of cloaks and urges,
Dray days and drawn nights, merges.
Well, oh well ain't up to thee,
All Thy Way's supposed to be's.


Written after a conversation with a friend considering becoming a monk in rainy weather while wearing a cassock. . . . bonnie
 
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