Holy Communion In the obscurity of the ancient church Steeped in incense, Smoke from flickering candles Mingles with sunbeams Filtering through stained-glass windows, Tinting with rainbow hues The altar blossoms Drifting onto the marble floor Then into the front pews File a flock of white-clad darlings With well-scrubbed faces And chubby cheeks Bulging with sugared almonds. And outside on the cold stone steps In the shadow of the porch A sorrowing bare-footed gypsy Sits with babe And outstretched hand. While portly matrons With husbands and relations In expensive new spring clothes, Dip their fingers in holy water And cross themselves; And each and every doting mother With happiness and pride Stretches her neck to try to see Her own beloved child. But now photographers arrive Clicking and flashing from every side, Despite the old priest's remonstrations, Who in desperation then resignation Tries to explain to the congregation, The real and sacred signification Of the Holy Communion... But nobody listens. Lights flash. Women chat. Babies cry Children run joyfully Up and down the aisle... And now it's over At last! Excitedly they pour out Down the steps Into the sunlight, Totally ignoring the gypsy. And after more photos, Climb with their angelic children Into their washed and polished cars And drive off To their long awaited banquets. while in the quiet of the lonely church The priest laments, And the gypsy With a thousand curses, Trails back to her encampment.