Remembering his Pledge and little else
the Padre takes Communion then a break.
His high resolve still rampant as it melts,
he drinks no wine, just water, with his steak.
"If I can go three days, perhaps I'll make
a month, or two, or years. I'm told to try
to care for me. I'm so quick to decry
the evil in my Saviour's world, but spin
my wheels, and span of years. Lord, let my eye
just see one Good I can effect, and gin
will pass my lips no more, save as a word
I'll use, at times, at cards. And muscatel,
and port, and Mogen David (that's absurd)
will be consigned, by me, to that bleak hell
that was, too long, my recompense. No swell
of sea or belle ashore will wring my trust.
I'll do great deeds. Still help my flock. Not fussed
by Philistine philosophising, I'll
levitate! Whatever. When I'm mussed,
like now, I do believe: I see You smile."