Revealing the evidence that led me to believe there was much evidence to be retrieved from the Archdiocese’s files – guilt hidden in piles.
Once upon a time a girl,
Wanted to help the poor,
So she gave social work a whirl,
To help the church do more.
Beside the cross she gave them clothes,
And nonperishable foods
To sad faces whose fortunes froze -
They came in boisterous broods.
She saw they all lived on few coins,
Thought they’d get equal help,
But then she had to gird her loins,
When she wanted to yelp.
They said that he had long gotten
Cash help to pay his bills,
And they feared his will was rotten,
Indulged in many frills.
She was to show him what to cut,
So they could cut him off,
But he always started with, “But…”
Which made the cash cows scoff.
One day they said, “He’ll get no more!
Or perhaps one last time.”
He wouldn’t change and so they tore,
His lifeline on a dime.
As the girl watched him walk away,
She stood there wondering,
Why did they pay for his dismay
Then act like he’d been plundering?
Why had they given him much more
Than other empty hands?
The answer lay behind his roar,
Hushed by The Cloth’s demands.