Epitaph - the ideals of St. Francis

(More from Emmaberry:  Mother Mary Francis, PCC?  Must ask her!)  This is another beautiful poem:)

 EPITAPH

 

Here lies the ideals of Saint Francis,

Pressed in the folds of earth, the little plant,

Drooped to a smile of meager flesh and bone.

Here lies the triumph of the little poor man,

The lovely, wasted witness to his dream.

Bring no polite compassion to her coffin

And stay the pitying upward flight of brow

For Francis and his dream without a haven,

His mad impossible schemes. Here lies the proof

His dream was wholly possible to her heart.

Here lies the refutation for crawling cautions;

Sweet, mute rebuttal to any compromise.

Her crypt is full of flower talk, and gladly

The stars come swimming down to kiss her face

Caught in its quiet splendor. Be still! Be still!

The place is full of angel talk or song.

Here lies the fragile flower of Saint Francis

Stronger than armies! here, the unswerving gaze

Shuttered at last on earth, and turned on Godhead.

Here lies the testimony to Saint Francis:

Clare of Assisi.

Who weeps, weep but for joy.