That church to while my mother went
On pilgrimage way back then:
Dedicated to St Anne, mother of Mary
In an age way back when
Faith was strong and people poor:
Danger at every door,
It has known fire, and has been rebuilt…
Grander than it was before.
Pestilence now stalks the land
Complacency did deceive
Due to love of Mammon over man
The hard hearts of man it does deceive
Which gave disease a clear path
Which now, too late, we fight
We will bury our dead, as in plagues of old,
Who die by day and night.
Mother of Mary, mother of God
Exclamations of the Pius now passed
To spite the modernity of man
The faith among folk did last.
There are no aethists in the trecnches
In wartimes past old wives said:
Prayer exists today in someform in all mankind
As without funerals, we bury the dead.