The Sisters of St. Francis of Philadelphia

Guarded by grim griffins carved in stone
Grimacing through stony teeth,
Snarling silent threats;
Fenced by sternly cut and harsh-shaped rows of hedge,
The green world waits—
Not warm and welcoming—
But sternly shaped by human whim,
A green whose hidden soul shouts
“Reach for God”
Silenced by the shears that
Shape sharp forms—
Cones,
Boxes,
Circles
Spiraled into ever-smaller rounds,
A world of green
Whose voice cannot escape an artist’s mold,
Whose soul,
In silent contrast to the Artist’s wild and color-flagrant world
Has ceased to grow.