A Simple Sacristan
By Michael Power - Welland, Ontario, Canada - 25 November 2015
When I die
I want to die
a simple sacristan.
The rosy-fingered dawn pokes
through the stained glass,
high above me.
I am the surpliced ghost
of sanctuaries past.
Prepare the water and the wine,
the host and chalice, and
the vestments for the priest,
robed also for the ritual:
amice, alb and maniple,
cincture, stole and chasuble.
Light the candles,
hold the book,
ring the bells, if bells there be.
Fold my hands,
bow my head,
bend my knee
to God almighty.
And when I die
I want to die
a simple sacristan.