I grew up Catholic
Very devout,
Eldest of ten
We’d fight and we’d shout.

Listened to Mozart.
Sung The Mikado.
Dad would quote Poe
With quite the bravado.

We sang and we danced,
Performed little shows,
Artistic imaginations,
Sacred Mass for our woes.

But man, though flawed,
Is able to choose,
And dad, “…nevermore.”
Lost the battle to booze.

But the funny thing, though,
For his soul I still pray,
Is that many do blame
The Catholic way.

Mozart, it’s thought,
Can’t corrupt man.
The Mikado’s still sung
By men of Japan.