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Lent in a Year of War

One of you is a major, made of cord and catskin,

But never dreams his eyes may come to life and thread
The needle-light of famine in a waterglass.

One of you is the paper Jack of Sprites
And will not cast his sentinel voice
Spiraling up the dark ears of the wind
Where the prisoner's yell is lost.

"What if it was our thumbs put out the sun
When the Lance and Cross made their mistake?
You'll never rob us our Eden of drumskin shelters,
You with the bite of John the Baptist's halter,
Getting away in the basket of Paul,
Loving the answer of death, the mother of Lent!"

Thus, in the evening of their sinless murders,
Jack and the Major, sifting the stars for a sign
See the north-south horizon parting like a string!

-Thomas Merton