St. Francis

 The pupil leaves that Forever-Learning-Place for the dusty scrolls of his own chamber,

There was a time when the words of ancient poems filled his heart with joy,

They were the light of his eyes,

But the grim black-robed scholars wished to extinguish his flame,

thinking this distracted disciple would put them to shame,

He gazed out the window like he was seeing the world for the first time,

fearing he would burst with all the questions they'd never let him ask,

Is our Lord in heaven or here with us?

Do animals have souls?

If God made the world, who made God?

It was not that he was irreverent, 

only that he saw the divine where others did not,

in Earth's bounty,

but also in her untamable chaos,

When he shut the door to escape from his foes,

only his love was there to embrace him,

It was she who sheltered him in her arms,

She ran her fingers through his hair and listened to all he asked,

for her name was Wisdom,

and out of all those who sought her,

he was the one whom she loved the best