A new priest, he came to our village,
With the Curate he wanted to meet
So he ventured on down, as a stranger in town
To find him, on Jackaby Street
Now being new to our village, the parson
Was not very sure of the way
And though he prayed to the Lord, for direction,
He was lost for a half of the day!
At the point where he'd got to despairing
The lad, Michael, from Croft, he did meet
And he said the boy: 'Can you show me
To the Curate's on Jackaby Street? '
'Kind sir' said the boy to the parson
'You look weary - and dead on your feet!
I will show you a short cut with haste, sir
That will find you on Jackaby Street.'
'Go down, to the left, at the corner
Turn right, then the river you'll meet.
Cross the bridge, then turn right a t the bottom -
And you'll end up on Jackaby Street'
The parson, with humble oration
Laid his hand on the young laddie's head
'Though I'm new here, my boy, let me show you
The way to the Kingdom.' He said!
Said Michael, his brow deep and furrowed
As he shyly looked down at his feet.........
'Don't be silly, you couldn't do that, sir,
You can't even find Jackaby Street! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem