Born to be a man of the cloth: A poem

Born to be a man of the cloth,

Forever Lost in childhood wonder,

In joyous merriment,

Laughing on a royal parapet;

At comfort and peace in ancient abbies,

Hearing prayers for the royal family,

Wishing for life in a monastery;

We all seem to worship services,

Giving them names like religion, sports, celebrities, family.
Born to be a man of the cloth,

Choosing, instead, to live amongst the throngs,

Tempted by love to veer off the path,

The path which points to Life where the cloth is laid out on another sphere.

— Rick Hill, Sunday, 14th August 2016

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