Your fishing boat bobs up
and down in uncertainty,
As you reflect upon the
meaning of your life;
With a sterile stare you
gaze at the wobbly waves,
While the wonderful wind of
the Spirit is silently approaching;
A merciful Son of Man is
standing on the sandy seashore,
He is looking for his Rock,
to make him a fisher of men;
The breeze blows through
your stubborn dark hair,
As the Son of Man asks if He
can come aboard your boat.
As Jesus ascends, He disappears
into nebulous misty clouds,
You feel like a floundering
fisherman without his nets;
Without the Good Shepherd,
your heart seems hollow,
You now appear more like
a pebble than a rock;
But later, a deafening wind
whirls through the room,
And fantastical flaming
fireballs crown all present;
In divers tongues, all mystically
praise the good God,
And you proclaim the Word
with holy courage.
As you are cruelly crucified
upside-down on Vatican Hill,
Your life is brimming with
meaning and significance;
Your blood falls to the earth
like a myriad of mustard seeds,
Where the Church will
take root and grow strong;
You are the first link in
the precious papal chain,
An unbreakable chain dripping
with martyrs’ blood;
This chain will withstand
the hammering of heretics,
It will be like a fruitful vine
bringing Love to the world.