I rarely pray to Christ. His sacrifice
was so perfect, it’s far beyond my ken.
I’m one of those who have denied Him thrice
but take His bread and wine, then say amen.
I pray three ways, first to the Holy Ghost
in charge of poets who would serve the Lord,
then to St. Michael, head of heaven’s host:
“Lead me in battle, angel,” I’ve implored.
Mostly I pray to Mary, for we’re told
petitions that she forwards to her Son
are answered always. All of my sins were sold
to Satan, and the sinning isn’t done.
Salvation for a creature so defiled?
In my old age I must become her child.
—Timothy Murphy
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