In an Old Cathedral--By Terry O’Leary--France

In an Old Cathedral

She knelt upon a plank of oaken, sable cloak, her mourning guise,

and sensed the breath of distant sighs,

pale shades of bane behind blue eyes…

While clasping close a cross-like token (holding hope for those in need)

she prayed her Lord "please intercede,

my woe be washed; my soul be freed"…

Archangels, in the skies evoken, candles flickered, shadows shivered

through the panes, the moonlight quivered…

summoned forth, the wish delivered…  

Forgotten words he once had spoken (echoed dim beneath the dome)

swept sweetness of the honeycomb

o'er distant realms they used to roam…

At midnight's knell, in dreams awoken, memories of love unchained…

Though loneliness of grief remained,

she still held hope… hope hadn't waned…

And when the dawn had early broken, by the font, in peace she lay…

As sudden as a sunrise ray

the light of life had slipped away…

Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity..."