The hermit kneels inside his cell and prays.
\nHere two roads meet: and at their crossing stands
\na sacred guard for all the kingdom’s ways.
This cell, four paces square, is all his lands;
\nfour windows glimpse the freedom of the sky;
\nfour prisoning doors, he closed with his own hands.
For water and for food he must rely
\non charity from those who walk the road.
\nIn advent of his blessing, they supply
not only those few alms that he is owed,
\nbut conversation, company, and news
\nof incidents beyond his small abode.
For moments, minutes, hours they amuse
\nthe ancient hermit. Then away they trail,
\nreturning to the world that he eschews.
To guardian the roads: so goes his tale,
\nand few there are who ever comprehend
\nhow his unmoving presence can avail
against all storms and perils that would rend
\nthe kingdom into many scattered parts.
\nBut in his sacred solitude thus penned,
the hermit knows his sacrifice imparts
\nprotection, love, a sheltering, gentle spell
\nthat far surpasses all the warlike arts.
Until one quiet night an unseen bell
\nrings out, and north or west a door swings wide,
\nas if from out this humble citadel
the hermit, bent-backed, tottering, might stride.
\nHis end is near; he rises up to wait
\nand see who from the chosen way will ride.
A traveller, fated, finds the hermit’s gate
\nhas loosed its hold. His own road brings him here;
\nhe kneels to let the hermit consecrate
him with a touch. Then without any tear,
\nthe hermit breathes his last. One final act:
\nwithin the ground the traveller lays his peer,
and under open sky and earth compact
\nthe newcomer the holy body sets.
\nHe lays one hand upon the old and cracked
wood of the door, and leaving his regrets
\noutside, he closes it. And there he stays—
\nwhoever he once was, the world forgets.
The hermit kneels inside his cell and prays,
\na sacred guard for all the kingdom’s ways.
© 2025 Marie Brennan
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