Riding pillion

The curate’s motorbike

Come here,Kathryn,come here quick,

‘Cos your Daddy’s really sick.

Run as fast as fast, you can,

Get the priest, get Father Dan.

Run,run went my eight year old feet,

Down the lane and up the street

I ran right up to Father’s door,

[Does God live there any more?]

“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”

“Oh”,said Father,”that I will.”

Revving up his motor bike

With The Sacrament beside.

He lifted me up onto the back

And roared off up the church side track.

It was the best thrill of my life

If only Daddy had not died.


About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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