The only people I ever heard talk about My Lady Poverty
were rich people, or people who imagined themselves rich.
St Francis himself was a rich and spoiled young man.
Being bom among the working people
I know that poverty is a hard old hag,
and a monster, when you’re pinched for actual necessities.
And whoever says she isn’t, is a liar.
I don’t want to be poor, it means I am pinched.
But neither do I want to be rich.
When I look at this pine tree near the sea,
that grows out of rock, and plumes forth, plumes forth,
I see it has a natural abundance.
With its roots it has a grand grip on its daily bread,
and its plumes look like green cups held up to sun and air
and full of wine.
I want to be like that, to have a natural abundance
and plume forth, and be splendid.