The Cloak of Austerity
By John Herlihy

Give me the cloak of austerity,
As I survey the riches of the world.
I will wear the cloak of austerity,
Walk down a street, flags unfurled.
The coat’s rough cut becomes me;
Its patchwork effect benumbs me.
Indifferent to the ways of the world,
The oyster shell ignorant of the pearl.
Servility makes up the warp of cloth;
Nobility interwoven in the weft so soft.
No pretention woven in valued threads;
No pride woven into shimmering webs.
I sit with mendicants of the Tang dynasty;
I observe the world with Talmudic scholars
I bow down in humility with Tibetan lamas;
I sway in deep meditation with Sufi sheikhs.
The world’s treasures cannot sustain me;
The world’s temptations cannot contain me.
As I gaze down at my austere, ragged cloak;
I notice a fleck of dust in the light, a mote.
Peacefully wrapped with no sense of desolation;
I brush away the fleck as an act of consolation.