Francis

Only the barbate with their locks

Have gathered the words and the keys

To the Kingdom’s letterbox.

Watching for grace like patient hawks,

Waiting on He who all things sees,

Only the barbate with their locks

Can steer us from the threat’ning rocks

Which they carve into our home’s frieze.

It says, “A Church We Build With Blocks,

But, A House We Build With Our Talks.”

Within, Francis falls to his knees;

Only the barbate with their locks

Aid us the Devil to outfox

And our sins at long last to seize

To the Kingdom’s letterbox.

Francis writes, as one feebly knocks

On the Gate, a tract to appease

Only the barbate with their locks,

It says, “A Church We Build With Blocks.”