Imogen Crest Takes to the Hermitage

The harried halls,
the market stalls,
the many balls,
the crying calls -
enough!

Weary of the
corridor of war,
through history,
I take to the
hermitage.

I sit and learn
what is of value,
thought of as odd
to spend time in
myself and with
the One.

The oak shields
my stone sill, the
eagle sits on the
tower, the wind
brings a banner of
gifts to me.

Odd it is not -
to seek what is
true. It is odd
not to, if
you know what I
do.

Yours, if only for now,
- Imogen Crest.
copyright Monika Roleff 2005.