I can’t imagine

A man cannot

compete with God.

Such a pity her

neat, tall figure

was covered by

the habit of a

postulant nun.

She would come

from the small

convent next door

and sit in the same

place in the church

every morning.

That was such

a cold winter.

But then I heard

she married

after all.

And had two sons.

I can’t imagine

her lithe body

encumbered

like that,

waddling about

and swaddling

a child.

 

(Julian O’Dea)

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