Chapel of Our Lady of Sorrows, Fatima
Courtesy Fr. John A. Hardon SJ, Archive and Guild
The devil sits down at Cova da Iria, reading his breviary
(His is the same as yours, but he reads the prayers with envy)
As rain comes spattering down, the oak tree shivers
Only the hope of the sodden faithless withers
“Noon, and the Lady has not arrived,” observes the priest,
Whose face is clever, paper skin not creased—
The minute hand creeps forward by a shadow
As he speaks to Lucia, Jacinta, and Francisco
“See, the lady whom you speak of does not arrive—
Mid-day, your prophecy is false, your hope contrived,
Go home, dear children, there will be no sign.”
He set the watch ahead of noon, he is malign
But when the sign appears the mimic priest has gone
Not seen again, this smooth deceptive one,
But he will come again to urge despair
When heaven even then has answered desperate prayer