It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon
when I preached to
a host of young future priests
about outer space
and inner regimes,
an apocalypse of withered spirits
which reading alone can save.
A few winced, others sat rigid,
some slept with open eyes,
while one took down every word
diligently in his notebook.
After awhile they led me up
a flight of stairs
to cut the ribbon
of a library, with creaking shelves,
updated with old books.
It smelt of ancient history, poetry,
psychology, theology...
crumbling leaves
whispering knowledge
in Latin, English and
mother tongue.
As I walked back home
with the after taste
of the spot of tea and biscuits
the rector respectfully offered,
I mused on the ways
we all try to save the world.
