St. Stephen

Saint Stephen with a rose
In and out of the garden he goes
Country garland in the wind and the rain
Wherever he goes the people all complain
Stephen prospered in his time
Well, he may and he may decline
Did it matter? Does it now?
Stephen would answer if he only knew how
Wishing well with a golden bell
Bucket hanging clear to Hell
Hell halfway 'twixt now and then
Stephen fill it up and lower
Ladyfinger dipped in moonlight
Writing «What for?» across the morning sky
Sunlight splatters dawn with answers
Darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye
Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow
Wrap the babe in scarlet covers, call it your own
Saint Stephen will remain
All he’s lost he shall regain
Seashore washed by the suds and foam
Been here so long he’s got to calling it home