Holy Thursday Meal

 'Twas Holy Thursday, and I, 

      having made myself clean

      with a bar of Mary's fine soap,

      and the waters of the brook

      made my way through the woods

      to the house where I finished

      getting myself ready to go

and eat the waiting holy meal.

In her arms my sweet Mary

     carried our child, Thomas,

     now too warm with fever,

     the fresh clean white shirt

     and mended blue pants

     she had managed still

     to make ready for me 

as a guest to the holy meal.

Bidding farewell, I set out

     on the lane to the church

     where Father O'Leary and,

     neighbors now friends all

     gathered around the Table

     to be abundantly blessed

     on the most holy night

when the dear Jesus is remembered..

At the place where music reached,

      I heard a bellowing sound

      from down in the river bog

      Knowing it could only be

      O'Malley's old milk cow

      that gave the needed milk

      for the new baby born 

without a mother's breast,

Into the muddy bog, I went

     grabbing halter rope

     pulling one way and another

     until cow and me came forth

     wearing black soured mud,

     but still I went toward the place

     where the Table had been set

for the very likes of me.

All had gone, only a candle lingered

     on the Table with a piece of crust

     and a cup once filled, now empty

     and so taking the crust of bread,

     I swiped inside the cup, 

     staining it with holy red,

     and took alone the holy meal

left for me under the hanging holy feet.