'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.
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