There was a man of venerable life.
Benedict blessed by grace and by name.
He fled a world of strife.
His wants and suffering to tame.

I wandered disconsolate around his birthplace Nursia.
The churches lay crushed by earthquake.
But from every destruction by war and nature, hope creates a new anima.
A rebirth that can crush under heal despair’s insidious snake.

His little rule for over a thousand years is on countless bookshelves.
Moderate, undemanding and soul enriching in every way.
It allows us to grow out of not into ourselves.
And in our own lay life not necessarily in a community to stay.

We too can create our own monastery of the mind.
And to our faltering spiritual steps be kind.