by Rita Daughton (Associate)

There’s a garden out there.
Through this half-open door
   I can see;
A tumble of blossom,
Sun-brightened brick,
Smell scents of the earth
Perfume of roses,
Hear tremble of bird-song.

Why can’t I widen the door?
   Let myself out?
Why cower in this grey place
Weighed down by the past
And it’s burden of errors,
Not all of the mine?

If I go through the door
The sunlight will catch me,
Cobwebs will melt,
Terrors will fly.
I want to be part of that beauty.
Will my hollowness bear it?

Libera me, Domine

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