THE
CALLING CARD
Five a.m., my coffee,
Rosary in my hands,
All upon my lap-desk,
My soul inhales, expands.
And then I spy the calling card,
Upon my desk it lay.
A relic, token, keepsake,
Memento for the day,
From those who’ve gone before us,
We hope decked out in grace,
And yet, so often, leave their cards,
Sometimes in strangest place.
One side…their names and dates,
The other, Christ or Saint,
Prayers to persevere for them,
Make sacrifice, don’t faint.
So when you spot such calling cards,
Behind it is a story,
That you’ve been chosen, asked to help,
Free souls from Purgatory!
CALLING CARD
Five a.m., my coffee,
Rosary in my hands,
All upon my lap-desk,
My soul inhales, expands.
And then I spy the calling card,
Upon my desk it lay.
A relic, token, keepsake,
Memento for the day,
From those who’ve gone before us,
We hope decked out in grace,
And yet, so often, leave their cards,
Sometimes in strangest place.
One side…their names and dates,
The other, Christ or Saint,
Prayers to persevere for them,
Make sacrifice, don’t faint.
So when you spot such calling cards,
Behind it is a story,
That you’ve been chosen, asked to help,
Free souls from Purgatory!
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