The light coming from the small window
Draws a cross on the stone floor.
The naked walls look at the nun.
She wakes up with the sun.
The wooden chair is broken,
She reads standing up.
She dries irises in her Bible,
Thanks her chosen Father
For the joyful silence she lives in.
She does not know her beauty
And in her sacred ignorance
Glows like a 17th century Madonna.
[Show French Version]
