The Pilgrim Road 14 Poem by David McLansky

A Pounding at the Gate (14)

There rose a drumming at the gate, 

Importunate, the sound of Fate; 

It caused a stirring in the yard, 

They checked the gate, the gate still bared; 

There were wailing cries and shouts without, 

The frightened Nuns rushed all about, 

Uncertain of a course of action, 

They divided into separate factions;
Some feared to open up the door, 

Hands went to faces, still unsure, 

Some searched about to find the Priest, 

The Prioress at the very least; 

The Priest arrived looking peeved, 

'Are we attacked by Viking thieves, '

He stood askance in his nightgown, 

Those outside continued to pound; 

It was the Pilgrim who unbarred the gate

To see the crowd who couldn't wait

Until a decent hour of the morn, 

The crowd rushed in, a rag-doll borne.



Satan's Daughter (15)

'The crowd milled round and round the Priest

They threw the rag doll at his feet, 

In truth it was a little child, 

Her wrist were tied, her eyes were wild; 

A burly man hung over the Priest

Sweat running down his florid cheeks, 

A local farmer, Barone by name, 

His blouse was wet and was mud stained; 

'Here is the cause the crops have failed, 

Why the milk runs sour in the pail, 

Why the grapes have rotted on the vine, 

Why the calves have died at birthing time.'

The Priest looked down at the girl, 

Who had grasped his feet, and clinging, curled; 

She looked up at him with frightened eyes, 

The crowd around them buzzed like flies; 

'We caught her at her Satan Arts, 

She is a fiend with Evil heart, 

The little songs that she rehearses

Are filled with spells and deadly curses, 

To make our cows udders dry

That makes our sheep and goats to die, 

She withers the crops in the field, 

Here is the cause of our low yields.'