Imogen Crest Takes to the Hermitage
The harried halls,
the market stalls,
the many balls,
the crying calls -
enough!
Weary of the
corridor of war,
through history,
I take to the
hermitage.
I sit and learn
what is of value,
thought of as odd
to spend time in
myself and with
the One.
The oak shields
my stone sill, the
eagle sits on the
tower, the wind
brings a banner of
gifts to me.
Odd it is not -
to seek what is
true. It is odd
not to, if
you know what I
do.
Yours, if only for now,
- Imogen Crest.
copyright Monika Roleff 2005.
posted by Imogen Crest @ 5:38 PM
3 comments
The 
3 Comments:
All the better!
Words from this could be carved in the Abbey gates for the Abbey is a the hermitage I retreat to from the insanity of the world.
Can we make a Hermitage? Can we, can we? (I think this is the voice of the girl in the tulips, blessed little sweet pea, she is.)
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