First thoughts on St Francis

The little man stands before the crowd

as his father raves and rants in fury:  

'This son – disgraceful, wasteful son –

refusing his father's reasonable demands,

adding nothing to the family coffers,

stealing to fund his ridiculous schemes. 

Useless soldier, no head for business,

bringing shame to Pietro di Bernadone, 

who twice sent him out in the brightest armour,

and would clothe him in finest purple silk

if only he'd take his allotted place,

the next strong branch in the family tree.'

But the crowd and the kindly, worried bishop,

no longer attend to the spluttering man,

for his son has quietly cast off his clothes,

which lie, with the gold, at his father's feet,

and the bishop is offering his cloak to the man,

impressed by the soul but unnerved by the flesh. 

The father's rage flares at this new outrage. 

'Damn his eyes! Damn his belly, his buttocks, his mouth!

Let him freeze, let him rot, get him out of my sight!'

And the little man leaves in a borrowed cloak,

seeking his place in a different world.

Written in response to Howard Worsley TSSF, who led a course at Lee Abbey on St Francis in the 21st century, and inspired me to investigate becoming a member of the Third Order.