My sorrow is so great.
My mental anguish so endless.
Endless indeed is our battle to escape fate.
Sometimes our sadness seems friendless.

Watching a film about the monks of St Bernard in Leicestershire.
One monk saying he did not pray, his whole life was a prayer.
Emotions play on our life as on a lyre.
But we can offer them up to him as a fanfare.

The word is in the wind.
His touch can be gentle or strong or even still.
But if we remain outside the city in our search we can find.
We are like a child trying to look at the world out of a high window sill.

But if we do not see him, if him we refuse to discuss.
He is definitely looking at us.