Virtuous Sister

At the well of waters proceeds the virtuous one.

I see the immaculate beam of truth in the lamp of her soul,

The delight of perfumery uniting mind and matter’s whole.

There, by the fallen pitcher

Her eyes search for simplicity in the distant cloud.

Beneath it all, the patterns of embroidery she works on

Loosens and then reconnects

With the heartbeat that is her dream’s pulse.

In her I see patience among rowdy wills.

Her era required a new kind of rose,

Pursuit of gold, no excuse for bronze.

But in her eyes I see a gaze

At the quiet splendor of the hills

At the vision beyond the clear horizon.