White House [Poetry]

The White House on the Potomac,
The portal to power, wealth, and fame –
To wield its dark demonic forces
Innocence is lost and the blood of man is shed;
Malicious lies are told,
Allegiance is bought and sold,
Deceptive arts unfold.
Your hope does not lie there, Southern man,
In demagogues making a noisy scene,
But in the glittering white house –
The church of Candida Casa –
Of Blessèd Ninian in Whithorn,
Nestled on Galloway’s bay,
Built by the hands of the saint,
Who lived and prayed in a little cave.
The Southern heart, aching for a noble, loving father,
Will not find him amongst the greedy gangsters
And the sham showmen of DC,
But rather in that royal-born Briton,
St. Ninian, who put aside crown and kingdom
To bring the Good Tidings of Jesus Christ
To a branch of Dixie’s kin, the warring Scots;
Who nourished them with preaching,
Sacraments, and his prayers,
And who will tenderly guide us,
And work wonders for us,
If we will entreat our Elder,
As a child would his father.