Saint Malo and the Wrens, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Saint Malo and The Wrens


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.






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