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An Imperfect Life poetry by Fr. Harold Macdonald |
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My room, my soul, is cluttered, unrefined; my files, unfiled, and books are piled askew. Beneath the jumbled hopes, just who could find the mouse? The hidden keyboard that you knew was in the mess? It’s somewhere underneath. Comes not too soon, the stern Ash Wednesday! I'm energized to chuck the stuff! Bequeath it to life’s junk yard. Final dump! The day is longer, brighter light displays my flaws! Scrub out your lies with lye, cleanse every blob! Once more unto the breech, uphold the cause! Again renew yourself; rise to the job! (But age has crept away with all the sins that please There’s little left for Lent but memories).
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