In the garden of the Virgins, that is, The garden of the House of the Vestals <br />(Your sweater draped across your shoulders As the narrow chill of the evening <br />Began to ribbon the Forum) , you walked With your head down, silent, a little amused, <br />But silent. Whatever else exists In the daily mystery of service & denial <br />I doubt celibacy plays much of a part for you; Yet there you were, at the ancient threshold. <br />The very threshold of life <br />The threshold of the divine flame. <br />Bye the ruins of the sacred House – thinking- - Whatever it was that you were thinking - the lush- - - complicated vines which even in winter bring life to the bare stones of the walls around us. <br />Yet for you, I know, a... time when once home had a fire, a hearth <br />A place where the flame of love struggled burst into vibrant life and dimmed <br />But like the memory of Vesta, to those who know, never quite died out.<br /><br />JAMES ROBERTS<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-gift-from-the-temple-of-vesta/
