The night is almost gone and the day begins to rise,
A gentle bell echoes through the morning air.
In simple cells the hermits linger in prayer,
softly welcoming the newborn day.
Hands at work while hearts keep praying,
finding grace in every step the take.
Whithin the guit cell where the hermit grows, time moves gently, slow and calm.
Beetween each breath and every prayer, love and peace are waiting there.
When evening comes its golden light.
by: Fr. Elvis, O.Carm
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