THE PETITION

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