Sonnet

Which is easier to say, get up and walk.
Or your sins are forgiven.
Some like me do little but talk.
Others into martyrdom are driven.

I often rest awhile beside Oliver Plunket’s tomb.
At Downside it is raised up on pillars high.
Here the shadows of an unforgiving past loom.
But here was a man’s conscience that could not lie.

He could have remained quietly a professor at Rome.
But treaded fearlessly the fields and ways of Ireland.
Convicted on false testimony he died far from home.
And the last to have blood cleaned by the gibbet’s sand.

I freely admit I do and would have compromised.
Doing only what was and is authorised.

Haiku

Do we die for faith
Do most of us compromise
That is always thus