There were three of us on this motorbike,
Father Dan with me,
And he had Jesus in his bag.
That makes the total three.

Transubstantiation, oh my Lord
I looked at his black bag.
Is Jesus inside there, I thought?
Should it have a tag?

It’s a secret never told
Father Dan gave it me to hold.
So I had Jesus in my lap,
No wonder now I feel a gap.

We zoomed off up an unmade road
As fast as Dan could go.
I felt bewildered and bemused,
I loved my Daddy so.

Father Dan took back his bag,
And went inside our house.
I got my marbles out to roll,
I feared I’d see a mouse.

So Three of had taken a ride
And after that, my Dad had died.
Father Dan said Mass today
Still with Jesus, so I cried.

Against sadness:no-one old must weep

Nor lounge in a melancholy deep Was Van Gogh senseless to permit his muse. For even genius ,is the price too steep?

We see the yellow chair but not his views

Nor his mind where technique made strange leaps.

Nor was his journey broadcast on the news. Against sadness. Happiness or joy is hard to find When we rest, the News lies on our minds

Yet some are cold towards the slaughtered priest His nose a beak of bone in old face lined.

Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast Against sadness. What rages in the mind make men kill thus?. In Syrian wars the innocents fare worse.

But these are our near neighbours so we weep. And wonder how to end the frightening curse The sins we once committed hold us deep

We hold our hands out, wanting to be nursed .

Against sadness