My feet fall,
trekking the trail
of saintly feet long past.
Shrouded in black
just as he
A son of Benedict
on a pilgrimage of poverty
paying his way with truth.

His humility impressing
upon the heathen,
their hard won souls
his sanctified reward.

Rich colours adorn
the Eucharistic feast,
their eyes twinkle
and marvel
at this pinnacle of prayer.

The call of The King
attracts the mortal monarch
who in turn
offers up his heart.

(Written: 19.V.17)
Inspired by the legend of S. Sigfrid of Sweden


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