HIS MATINS.A Poem by Terry CollettA MONK AND MATINS AND MEMORIESThe monk runs his thin finger down the spine of the black book. Dom Peter turns the large key in the old lock. She would have let me- had I wished to- run a finger down her spine. The sanctuary lamp flickers in the church; a lone light in the ebony darkness. © 2015 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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