There is a church in Manchester known as ‘The Little Gem’. The exterior is unexceptional but the interior is elaborately decorated. Some years ago
we went to visit and whilst we were there a poem occurred;
The Te Deum ends and blends with the passed over prayers that hang in the air,
Waiting acknowledgment.
A shadow stirs, becomes a man, ponderous, slow
Hesitant.
His head a discarded maquette of rough clay,
Meant for a hero.
His clothes un-pressed, shiny with grease from solitary meals
Infrequent.
Shuffling forward on slippered feet, half blind,
Knees bent.
He fumbles with parsnip fingers for a coin from his plastic purse,
A present,
And sets a candle by the font to lighten the darkness
She left behind.
THE PETITION
by
Frank Bryce
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