Six monks in their place
Me, and one other
In the pews
World without end
This is the monks
First morning meditation
They are more settled
Than I
The Gyrovague
Who drifts from region to region
Staying as a guest
For three or four nights
I never settle; slave to my own will
To my gross appetites
Worse than a Sarabite
Pray, keep silent of my ways
