On his island amid the temper of seas
and warring armies, conquering waves,
Aidan, it seems, sat still,
calmed somehow by the Prince of Peace,
and with eyes quietly opened wide enough to see
the doors that stood ajar for him
to walk straight through with the words of truth
that others had before him seen as pearls
too good to give these northern swine;
Aidan spoke calmly where other men yelled
and taught where others had stormed off, disgusted,
declaring unteachable those Aidan taught
and dismissing the regions that soon were ablaze
with the strongest of fires, that need not yell
to prove the certainty of its flame.
The Consolations of Writing 