St. Francis of Assisi

Today I wonder if St.Francis
Has lent me his mantle,
If only for a little while
Now that spring
Is slowly unfurling,
Those tiny buds appearing
From barren branches.

He was wont to give
His cloak, his robe
To beggars,
Always on the lookout
For poorer than he.
That must be the reason
For this tender gift
So quietly bestowed,
He understood nakedness,
Embraced it,
Let the dust cling to his feet
As he sang on the roads of Assisi.

I used to think
I'd be very annoyed
If I had been his brother
Trying to keep him clothed,
While he was always searching
To give to the
One more tattered 
In the nakedness of need.


Now I appreciate such folly
As I feel his gift of an
Ancient fabric,
Its tatters disappearing into
His songs of praise,
Now,
Finding them in my own words
To echo his love of
Souls,
And creatures all,
Caught up in the music of
Creation.