I had a dream the other night
I was climbing Jacob’s ladder.
St Peter stood at Paradise Gate
Pondering what proof I had
That I was fit to enter.
I’ve witnesses who’ll gladly
State said I, I know
I have not lived too badly
In my eighty years below.
What witnesses are they? said Peter,
Beware. You see that leaden bell?
It tolls sinners down to hell.
Your four children? Said he
And twirled his massive key,
Oh no I’m sure they’ll be
Too prejudiced for me.
Below the ladder swung.
Was Jacob warning me?
I climbed another rung
And spoke more confidentially.
My youngest, said I - did
My back a world of good
She found a knot on a vertebrae
She could manipulate away.
Manipulation eh?
I heard St Peter say,
That’s not the way to clear
The moral knots which make me fear
I’ll cast you down from here.
My eldest plays the flute said I
She’ll swell the heavenly litany
Of praise beyond your gate
She does appreciate
My worth. Said Peter, So?
Flute? But she must know
That all of us within play
Harps. You may well contrive
To hear how my bell rings
Should she not strive
To pull the proper strings.
My second knows the ropes
Said I, Environmental law
Wind farms, and such, she hopes
Will be the future, hails the right
Of women everywhere to votes.
Herself votes green, I’d say.
Green? In here we’re white,
Spoke Peter. Rights for women eh?
No good. All Hail!
We angels are all male
It’s true some would
Be female round the edge –
We have a feminist fringe or should
I rather say, a wedge?
And what about my third?
I said, Have a word
With her. She fixed a date
To celebrate my eight-
tieth day in sunny Brittany.
She’ll testify for me.
She’s no-one’s fool,
She saved a failing school.
But Hey! I then heard Peter say,
No one fails or ails
Behind heaven’s gate.
I needn’t talk to her
And it’s getting late.
He paused. In France did
You dine well? he asked.
Of course. My sons in law
Are splendid cooks. It was
An ambrosial paradise.
My daughters always
Give them good advice –
Or they say they do,
And you should listen too..
Ambrosial was it?
Nectar too? said Peter
So you’re quite up to date
With what’s inside our gate?
Climb down, Live a while longer
And a little better. Those who
Loosen knots, or offer help
To those who fail below,
Dress in white not green,
And pluck the strings they know,
Even she who blows a note
Will testify for you I hope
If not, I’ll cut your rope.
©Terry Hodgson2020
Comments