It did not need a second reminder
to firm up the resolve: be a walker.
From a Holy Mass at Sto. Cristo
we paused to reenact his colegio.
The tourist bus patiently awaited
that every journeyer was accounted.
The second stop recalled his stay at Rennes
where Jesuits saw to his formative ken.
As soon as the procession poised to start
brethren counting 300-strong walked up.
I felt a lump choke up my throat; Montfort
gave up his belongings to all he passed.
A sister overheard a girl’s comment,
“I’ll be tired in a little while, I think.”
He proved his mettle in prayer worthy
of sacrifice in the seminary.
If that was amazing from a child, what
more if the pilgrim was older by much.
After the ordination, his mission;
then he had an audience with Clementine.
There were sisters more than brothers who went
braved the four-and-a-half hour ascent.
Like Christ’s cross, at Pontchateau he had his
and men of import thought of him a saint.
The faithful foot pilgrims were rewarded
with wisdom as the cross’ peak they reached.
The death and glory of Mary’s soldier/s
shared three hundred spiritually-blest years.