Among the grey and mossy aging stones,
through the mists of a grey and mossy day,
while the abbey bells chimed their reverent tones,
I followed the ghosts of greyfriar monks, along a cloistered way.
Among the grey and mossy stones of old,
in the dampened dew of dawn, dressed in winter grey,
while old, old ravens in twisted oaks began to scold,
I walked in fading footsteps, left by brothers off to pray.
Among the grey and mossy stones lost in time,
midst the salty brine of frozen, frothy ocean spray,
while the relentless breakers upon the cliffs did climb,
I knew take care to set carefully my path from which I mustnít stray.
Among the grey and mossy stones,
the ancient stones,
the sacred stone,
these salted, stormy-ed, and slow saddened stones,
I made way from the world that was far-too-much,
until I arrived, long last arrived,
in the world of just-enough,
yes, the world of just-enough.
Among those grey and mossy stones,
on a tour of distant faith long gone,
on a holiday from the stress of my success,
I found instead, I found within a holy place,
that became a holy day,
in a silent, solemn way,
in a silent, solemn way.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.