Saint Malo and The Wrens
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
The wren laid her eggs
In the cloak St. Malo had put on the ground
As he pruned his vines.
Having finished his daily, self-sustaining work,
He reached down for his cloak and saw mother wren,
And her little clutch of eggs.
He marveled that each egg was smaller
Than a grape, that each egg contained wings
And songs as sweet as the melodies of flutes.
He stood up, fists draped gently on his hips,
Took his clippings and shears,
And walked slowly back to the monastery,
Smiling as he pondered how the God of all
Cares for mother wren and her sleeping little ones,
And how he, for his part, had accepted the opportunity
To encourage future songs.