Good Evening My Monsignor Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Good evening my Monsignor
it be still winter
and red dusk from home
is relatively not so relevant
reason is akin
to tyrant-type uniformity
away
from that chance and probability
the Fount of Chance and Probability
from which gush as from the breasts
of the woman milk for children:
there gush the waters whose clear
beauty carries in it
the genesis of ideas flowing
new continual and ever-increasing
at which Dogma finding herself
cornered on her own ground
flies away.