The Way Of It

The things I had to do

And I a priest

Did not delight me

No not in the least

I did them out of

Pure obedience

I’d been enrolled

And that was all the sense

I’d given up

All personal ambition

A man in black

My only condition

I loved my football

Loved a pint of stout

Intelligent

But lacking the will to shout

I’d given up

The keys to my own cell

And no one came

No one to ring the bell

Until in gentle

Margaret I found

The hallowed spot

At last my holy ground

Brian Fahy

15 April 2021