Poems of Narad

Altar Boy

At the altar in gown and surplus, black and white
And ignorant. He speaks and I recite
The litany of litanies, the Mass
At five a.m. I watch him slowly pass

The Eucharist across the sanctified wine.
Little do I know, the grand design
Escapes my childhood soul, my unformed mind.
This father-priest fearsome yet not unkind,

Rarely a gentle word escapes his tongue,
Now turns, beatified, the bell is rung,
The sacramental host is served, Christ's blood
From wine, body from bread, the holy rood

Blesses us. Service done I leave
The chancel watching shrunken widows grieve
Unaware of what will be my fate
In future years when my deeds constellate,

Hear not the harp but the song of a distant flute;
A smile that renders all expression mute
I'll see and touch the feet of Heaven's queen
And glimpse His face through earth's transparent screen.