Mass at Palazzola by Elizabeth Hogarth

There is a house on a hill,

where the wind blows fresh and free

a playtime in the anticipation of summer.

It's here that the priests gather for mass

a gaggle of pressed white linen

and aubergine sashes of respect

draped around their necks and over hearts.

Priests in training, breathing in the content

quiet, sharing the serenity pressed

deep in the walls of the chapel,

God is their Headteacher

taking assembly on a Sunday afternoon.

They learn from the soft, stern words

sang melodically from a school boy choir.

Some snigger and giggle at an off tune chord

and the stillness acknowledges that they are all

just men, waiting in a schoolyard learning

what the world will teach them.

Standing in grace and beauty

and hoping to be enough.