Thursday, 21 March 2013
I've done a lot of sinning in my time
both home and away,
now it's time to pay;
to whitewash stains with penitential lime.
Some beat their breasts with clenched claws,
others fast and pray,
this is not my way,
I prefer the Camino of plod and pause.
Like Padraic Colum's 'old woman of the roads'
I meander quietly in lanes
exercising varicose veins
hauling hempen sacks full of discard loads.
For my sins I walk many miles by day
Picking up litter and dirt
sharing a common hurt
with all things rejected and thrown away.
I wipe plastic bottles from the face of the grass
beer cans and cardboard
soft toys once adored
daily mirrors, daily mails, brown and white broken glass.
Like Frost I take the roads less traveled
remote trails and paths,
rusty pails and baths
I haul to roads with surface graveled.
Today in a farmer's feeding bag I found a little lamb
still warm but dead
the plastic red
and pondered the memory of the little ones mam.
Was there grief for the life finished at the start
no gambol or bounce,
no flurry or flounce,
just the basin of a drain to house a silent heart.
Everyday a pilgrimage of recovering the dead
and useless forgotten sins
without the benefit of bins
or the dark restful sanctuary of a garden shed.
Sea of penance never ending debt of compensation
for wayward ways
and wicked days,
an endless trek in search of reparation.