The Priest.
We never really knew the man, we barely knew the priest
They said he came from Wexford or somewhere in the east
He never spoke of his family or of his childhood days
His past he kept to himself, securely locked away
He was patient, compassionate and always very kind
A scholar and a gentleman, a sharp and brilliant mind
Hurling was his passion and he loved a glass of wine
To the outside world his life appeared normal and fine
He wore a mask of contentment, to hide his bitter pain
Loneliness at times almost drove him insane
The lack of intimacy and another human’s touch
There were long and lonely nights when it almost got too much
His struggle with self doubt that felt so very real
His crisis of faith, he could not reveal
Or share with a close friend on how he really felt
Not even to God, at whose altar he knelt
He was on call, every night and every day
And always ready to dash away
His parishioners kept him occupied and busy
Though Friday night’s bingo used to drive him crazy
They kept him up to date with the latest gossip and news
Invited to every wedding, he could not refuse
At every funeral and christening, he was there
The old ladies doted on him and lavished him with care
That morning he had received a letter
From the bishop on an urgent matter
But his car was contrary, something wasn’t right
He decided to take the train and stay overnight
It was a dreadful night of wind and rain
He was rushing to catch the very last train
He had been delayed due to a sick call
When his car went crashing through the wall
The funeral was well attended, there was a massive crowd
There were lots of speeches and kind words said out loud
They spoke of his good deeds and his faults there were so few
The man behind the priest, that no one really knew
A stranger came among them, a stranger dressed in black
Standing by the graveyard gates, at the very back
A whisper rippled through the crowd, like a silent wave
A single red rose, she placed upon his grave…..
C Denis Murphy 02 September 2019.