Such pride filled eyes; we girls excused favour of your son,
Blind to stacked hope that threw shadow over our holy ghost.
Pride turned to water and splashed at our feet; broken father.
How many times to forgive? “Seventy times Seven”, says the Holy Ghost.
Greying optimist, you put your trust in God the Father
And nod with bent knee and head, noting your absent son.
Can God hear when you whisper, “Father, Son and Holy Ghost”?