Sisters' pot of gold
To the memory of Sister Cyril Mooney

You never rested ever,
except not by choice,
your old boots hung up
by circumstance, age,
a firm shield of nuns.

The side of you i'd seen,
a bundle of power, glee,
to lead the way, to free
small girls of penury,
uncare, you were their sun

who dawned on footpaths,
slums, railway platforms,
rays, warm, of cheerful care.
Little minds, for knowledge,
need love, you were there!

On whom you shone, they'll
shine too into depths dark
and dank, shine on more sisters.
Light travels so fast when lit,
pot of gold is lightness, dare.

© Sanjib Basu