Jube, Domne,
Benedicere.
For night grows long
And twilight’s phantoms
Are abated.
Pray, bless, for weary
Eyes not sustained
By prayer seek the cot
And the peace of the cell.

This, perhaps, is a request,
Over eager, over done
But your stubbornness
Moves my jaded mind to
Bow and seek a blessing
In these quiet moments
Before you enunciate
Those most tender syllables:
Nos cum prole pia
Benedicat Virgo Maria.

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