Cloisters Poem by Helen Crutchett

To me you are the song
Sweet nightingales trill.... long
In the lonely traces
Of music's empty spaces.

Our heart's violin strings
Deep in the strains of Spring
Cause our senses to sing
For all the blessings bring.

A wandering minstrel drifting
From a place far beyond resting
Leaving heart prints sculptures
Wandering the leafy cloisters.

Frozen in time in our garden tomb
Guarding the secrets only our hearts knew
Crumbling statues cracked and wrecked
Soon to be part of the earth's neglect.

Together we stand, hand in hand
In our green ivy-cloister until God's chosen time.




Helen Crutchett