A No More 'Glorious Destiny' Poem by John Scully

When death is trampled underfoot
and martyred flowers wither so,
it's time to be a Pilgrim
a Peter, James or John.

Chose the wrong gear to take
and select a time and place unknown,
but never give the journey up
for being a Pilgrim is the indwelling of the word.

Stretch out the heavens like a tent
listening to birds parading their repertoire,
for the cobweb-veiled fingers around the rosary beads
are those of the colonel-in-chief,
and my friend, don't hurry,
for you the Pilgrim, share the envy of the everlasting life.