Surely the Ink Desk must be the only blog on the entire world wide web which would publish a melding of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales with a girl’s experience on the March for Life. Here is a simply superb imitation of Chaucer’s General Prologue in which the pilgrims are pro-lifers heading for Washington DC and not a motley crew of mediaeval pilgrims heading for Canterbury.  

 

March Prologue

by Helena Claire Fahey

 

When all the sky is drear and grey,

And Christmas has long passed away,

But yet no sign of spring does come,

And all the world is feeling glum,

When seldom is the sunlight found,

While there’s still snow upon the ground,

And birds do wake to sing and greet

Another day of freezing sleet,

Then, when cold pierces to your very bone,

Do people wish to stay at home.

 

Yet some do venture, bold they are,

To Washington, by plane, or car,

From Alabama, Maine, and the rest

Of fifty states there to protest

The government’s unjust decree

(on which much could be said by me,

But  as it would hinder my tale in telling,

On it I will no more be dwelling).

And so it happened on that day,

To Washington as I made my way

Upon a bus, I did befriend

Some people who did also wend

Their way thither: a merry company

Who each himself did introduce to me.

 

There was first, a nun—I would never have guessed,

(Had she not told me) by the way she dressed:

Her sweater, a set in colour wine,

Material and fit, they were both fine,

And went admirably with her neat black slacks;

In no detail of wardrobe this nun lacks.

Her hair of grey was neatly styled,

Her eyes of blue were soft and mild,

She wore a cross with diamond hues,

And on her feet neat, sensible shoes.

Had she not greeted me as “Sister Pat”

I would, for very truth, have thought that

She was a grandmother, for by her mien

That she was a nun one would never ween.

She taught at a college—I don’t recall the name—

And read as a lector for the church of the same.

A spiritual yoga group she had begun;

Indeed, she was a most accomplished nun.

 

There was, as well, a young lady, very sweet,

Who in Washington her Youth Group was to meet,

Always happy, never one to moan,

She listened to Christian Rock on her i-phone,

And was very willing immediately to share

An earbud with anyone who did care

To listen with her, so generous was she,

She was the happiest of all our company.

Her jeans were skinny, her cami bright red,

She moved bangs from her eyes with a flick of her head.

She hated any arguments she came upon

She wanted everyone there to just get along.

She talked about the joy the Gospel brings;

Her favorite hymn was “On Eagle’s Wings.”

She played guitar for Church, and also sung,

She knew many people who spoke in tongues.

 

A young man there was who had joined us there,

He had crew-cut dark brown hair,

His khakis and white shirt were very neat,

And everyone politely he did greet,

He was well-versed in all Theology,

And on the Feast Day with us did disagree,

Saying, “The calendar you use is incorrect.

After Vatican II the Calendar was wrecked.

The Feast you speak of fell two days ago.”

He only to the Latin Mass would go,

And declared all who went elsewhere were wrong,

And English in the Mass did not belong.

And, well, perhaps he was right,

But as a travelling companion he was none too bright.

 

A mother was there also, with all

Her six children, all quite small

Her husband had to work, and so she

Had to bring them single-handedly.

Her fifteen-passenger van had broken down,

So she had to take this bus from out her town.

Her children ran and climbed everywhere,

But she did not really seem to care,

Unless they went too far and then,

“Athanasius Maximilian, stop that young man!”

She homeschooled, and she ran a blog

And owned a hairy, 100-pound dog.

She was a cheerful, easy-going soul,

Very pleasant to travel with as a whole.

 

Then there was our bus driver Mike

Who couldn’t see why we’d take such a hike

He wasn’t too garrulous, he was as a whole

A rather retiring and reticent soul

Just one thing he’d say when things weren’t going so well

And that was a muttered and terse “What the H—-.”

He always seemed to have nearby

A Dunkin Donuts cup that never ran dry.

His job as our driver he took quite to heart

And seemed determined to play well his part

As representative of Hornet Bus Line

To get us all to D.C. on time,

A resolution, I’m sure, with the best intention

But the speed he went at I’d better not mention,

And his passing of cars was really quite scary

And though with good aim, was it quite necessary?

But to each person each person’s own taste:

To judge or to criticize is not my place.

 

So this of our group, was the whole and the sum,

Who in a short while, to Washington would come.