by Kostis Palamas
You allowed your skete to be on the dry cliff
and lived there
below the depths of heaven,
a monk with prayer.
On the rock you leaned. The years passed.
God shines within you.
With your sacred work you deepened even the cliff,
and it became a temple.
37 Years of Monastic Labor
Pilgrim: Father, how many years have you been in the monastery?
The Elder: 37 years my son and I still have done NOTHING!
And what do we have to say for ourselves?
(by the blessed Elder Damascene, Skete of the Resurrection in Limassol)