Not as Certain as Dim Marble in the Nave
We pause beside those tombs, the ones with white
Carved marble hands in praying firmness there
On chest and breast. They look to be contrite
And will be ever so. The lordly prayer
Is undermined since also there beside
Him is that swingeing sword he used to lop
Off heads in battle with his knightly pride
And representing his penchant to chop
Off shoulders on the field. His lady lies
Beside him with her holy hands at rest
In state of prayer. Perhaps her hands comprise
A purer holiness, her smaller sins confessed,
But we don’t know. We cannot know for sure
That she was better or that much more pure.