The Bishop’s Decree

I am grateful to ChatGpt which in this instance has done well.

As a Franciscan, he lives a life of poverty.  It does not mean impoverishing the provision of the Mass

In silken robes of scarlet thread,
He paced where saints and martyrs bled.
A crozier held in grasping hand,
He cast his eye across the land.

“The chant is old,” he coldly said,
“The tongues of Rome are long since dead.
Let incense fade, let silence fall—
No Latin here, no sacred call.”

Where once was heard the solemn choir,
Now echoed rules and vain desire.
The altar stripped, the candles bare,
The faithful knelt in ghostly prayer.

He scorned the Missal, veiled in dust,
Called reverence “a thing of rust.”
But whispers stirred in hidden pews,
The ancient rite they’d never lose.

For deep within the soul of man,
No edict, threat, nor mortal ban
Can quench the flame of truth and grace
That time nor tyrant can erase.

And though he ruled with mitered pride,
The Latin Mass would not subside.
In catacombs and shadowed halls,
It rose beyond his marble walls.

The Bishop’s voice may thunder loud,
But Truth walks not among the proud.
And even wolves in sacred dress
Can’t silence holy faithfulness.