In verity and with great hopes,
Malachy told his Prophecy of Popes!
Centuries ago, he was called to Rome,
Like the bees to their honeycomb.
There a beauteous vision did flower,
Of all remaining popes in their hour!
His sequence of most cryptic phrases,
From first to last, still quite amazes.
St. Peter was first, and who is last?
And what an interesting contrast!
In the long, long saga of devotion,
So filled with fervor and emotion.
Like God Himself, tomorrow is mystery;
As how the sun redly ripens a cherry!
And the saga itself has now grown old,
As the sunset sky, when sprayed with gold.
In Christ's footsteps, they all followed,
In the sacred church that he hallowed.
And as sure as a pure heart sanctifies,
Without a doubt, true love never dies!