TO SAN JUAN DIEGO

Humility was your middle name,

So at Tepeyac to you she came;

You really didn’t know what to say,

Your only thought was to stop and pray;

You became Our Lady’s holy slave,

Always trustworthy, and very brave;

You saw sweet roses out of season,

The Virgin gave them for a reason;

Then you brought them to the bishop’s place,

The people filled with God’s dazzling grace;

As at your tilma everyone gazed,

The most wondrous sign left all amazed.

TO ST. THOMAS MORE

You were the Lord High Chancellor

  Under the infamous Henry the Eight,

At first you tasted the king’s friendship,

  But later on the sovereign’s hate;

You were a right honorable gentleman,

  With an intellectually sharp mind,

With courage you stood against the crown,

  For, sadly, it was spiritually blind;

So you were put in the Tower of London,

  A place that vile criminals dreaded,

You faithfully served the good God first,

  Thus, the monarch had you beheaded;

In this world, you bravely battled for truth,

  The people, you’d never mislead ‘em,

Now from Heaven you pray for us all,

  As the patron of religious freedom.

TO ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA

Inspired by the writing of this great saint

You stand atop a holy bridge,

A bridge that has several levels,

Like the historic Ponte Vecchio,

And the waves of the worldly waters

Are swarming with sea demons who

Obsessively seek souls to rip open

With their blade-like bloody teeth,

And their cold cadaverous claws,

To torture them in The Endless Death;

But some souls, through God’s grace, 

Cling to the edge of the first level

Of the bridge, dripping wet and

Shivering, terrified of going to hell,

So they clutch tightly to the bridge,

Fearing that they will fall back into

The turbulent black river of doom;

Other souls, through God’s strength, 

Climb up higher to the second level

Where they are safe from the evil

Threat below, in a place of serene

Consolation, where happiness can

Finally reign in their grateful hearts;

However, there are still others who,

Through your passionate prayers -- 

And surrender to the Holy Cross --

Climb to the top of the bridge, and

There -- yes, there! -- they are

Pierced by the overwhelming beauty

Of the magnificent heavenly realm,

Where Jesus’ peace surrounds them, 

Where Jesus’ joy enthralls them, 

Where Jesus’ love embraces them.

TO SANT' ANGELA DI FOLIGNO

Forty years in pursuit of 

Wealth and worldly respect,

Before you realized

It was all totally worthless;

But you made up for lost time

As the Wonder Counselor

Graciously removed the

Dead weight out of your life

So that you would be free,

Free to follow Him forever;

You generously gave away

Almost all you owned,

And Jesus sweetly filled you

With the fruit of the Spirit;

Like Augustine, too late

Did you know Him, but

Thanks to The Divine Mercy,

It’s never, ever too late

To finally find The Good,

To finally find The True,

To finally find The Beautiful:

God is love.

TO SANT' ANTONIO DI PADOVA

They knew you as a Franciscan friar,

And your wise words lit in them a fire;

You preached to the fish when men wouldn’t hear,

They leaped from the water, filled with good cheer;

Then some envious men poisoned your cup,

They stared, aghast, when you drank it all up;

Before you heretics always cower,

Since through you God shows His mighty power;

When we really feel we have lost our mind,

Your passionate prayers help us Jesus find.

TO ST. BONAVENTURE

You were the genius blessed by God

Who spoke of the holy marriage of

Faith and reason, and, indeed,

What a fruitful couple they make.

You were the teacher blessed by God

Who showed that everything we do,

No matter how great or how small,

Should point us towards Heaven.

You were the diplomat blessed by God

Who brought Light to the Franciscan order, 

And as the sagacious Seraphic Doctor,

You were an instrument of God’s peace.

TO ST. CLARE OF ASSISI

Your exquisite bright blue eyes

   are soft and serene,

 Beholding the remarkable

   richness of God’s creation;

Your honey hair cascades

   over your shoulders like a

Wonderful waterfall of God’s

   ineffable, indelible love;

Yet you choose to be a

   princess of holy poverty,

And your only wish is to

   sweetly serve in simplicity;

You are a faithful friend to

   the good Saint Francis,

As you both sacrificially surrender

   to Jesus the Just;

You are a merciful mother

   to the nuns of San Damiano,

As you guide them in purity

   and prudence and peace;

You are a beauteous bride

   to Christ the Courageous,

And your soul is bedecked with

   the precious pearls of virtue;

As you fervently follow in the

   footsteps of Our Loving Lord,

May we too live on in

   the laudable light of Christ.

TO ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI

Your jolly, joyful eyes dreamily dance

  to the sublime, saintly symphony

Of the unimaginably beautiful creations

  of the Most High Lord God;

Your pious, prayerful persistence

  and earnest embrace transform the

Leprous lechery of our lives into

  the radiant Son-shine of lasting love;

Your voice, like a melodious and

  musical church bell, resonates and

Reverberates throughout the ages

  with the clarity and purity of truth;

Your simple, kindly actions speak

  louder than the sonic boom of the

Ghastly gossip and eloquently

  empty chatter of the world.

TO ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX

Good St. Bernard, you love

Our Lord and Our Lady so much:

You were a sincere confessor,

But in the confessional, 

You were too severe,

Far far too severe,

And so the Spirit taught you

Gentleness, sweet gentleness;

Maybe it was from you that

St. Francis de Sales learned,

For he so famously said that

We will catch more flies 

With a spoonful of honey

Than with a barrel full of vinegar.

TO ST. PATRICK

You’re a stout lad from the big Scottish isle,

A future bishop without any guile;

Kidnappers took you away from your home,

Across a sea that rippled with white foam;

In Ireland you were made a poor slave,

Life was rough, though you tried hard to be brave;

You drew close to God and He set you free,

At last with your eyes your homeland you see;

You return to Ireland so smart, so wise,

And clearly reveal all the devil’s lies;

You pray “Christ on my left, Christ on my right,”

And you help the Irish find the true Light.

TO ST. MONICA

You agreed to marry Patricius the pagan,

  Humbly submitting to your parents’ will,

You were very kind and generous to him,

  Though he responded by treating you ill;

But about a year before leaving this world,

  He finally accepted the Nicene Creed,

Through your example of faith and love,

  His stubborn soul was finally freed.

However, you still had much work to do,

  For your son Augustine broke your heart,

He was a teacher who was very arrogant,

  And he strutted because he was smart;

But you vigorously persisted in prayer,

  Fasting with tears over his empty life,

When he met the great Bishop Ambrose,

  The Spirit pierced your son like a knife.

It was on Easter that the saintly Ambrose

  Joyfully baptized your prodigal son

Who went on to become a Church Father,

  And many victories over heretics won;

The end of your life was so very sweet

  As Augustine treated you like gold,

You’re the patroness of motherhood,

  And of your story many have been told.

TO ST. NICHOLAS

You are the merry Christmas saint,

You tried to live without complaint;

A bishop with a cheerful heart,

Your words pierced like a loving dart;

Your gift of gold saved three sweet maids,

Who always feared the Roman raids;

With holiness you beat the foe,

Your jolly laugh goes ho, ho, ho.

TO ST. HELENA

Dear modest, majestic

   mother of Constantine,

You sweetly speak

   with stately serenity;

As a holy pilgrim, with

   eyes alive and animated,

You search for Christ’s

   true cross on Calvary.

Lumbering laborers dig up for

   you a dizzying number

Of dirty crosses -- yet

   only one is miraculous;

Only one cures the

   worn-out woman’s incurable

Disease when she is

   wondrously made well.

Then, when you eagerly

   embrace its holy wood

In your amiable arms, you

   tremble with jubilation;

Strands of your long flowing

   hair blow in the breeze across

Your lovely face and then

   softly caress the holy cross.

TO ST. LONGINUS

You rammed your lance into His side

  And out the crimson blood poured;

Startled when it splashed your face,

  You looked up at the crucified Lord.

Later His sacred blood pierced your soul,

  So you knelt down and began to pray;

This gradually led you towards holy freedom,

  To a path that was to become The Way.

Pontius Pilate marveled at your courage,

  For as a martyr you chose to die,

He wondered if what he heard of Jesus

  Might be the truth and not a lie.

TO ST. VERONICA

Under the cross, the Christ is crushed,

  And He staggers to the ground,

His loveblood pours from thorny wounds,

  Yet He utters not a single sound;

The stony Roman soldiers encircle Him,

  Watching for a menacing threat,

But with holy compassion for the Master,

  You just want to wipe away His sweat.

Like an invisible angel you pass them by,

  Focused on serving your Lord,

You approach to clean His bloody head,

  A head that has been badly gored;

For the very slightest moment of time,

  The weary Jesus has time to relax,

Then He presses His face into your cloth,

  Like a signet ring pressed to warm wax.

The savage soldiers abruptly grab you,

  Rudely and cruelly pushing you away,

But something catches your attention,

  A hopeful sign on this sorrowful day;

Your eyes twinkle with sincere wonder,

  And diminished are all your fears,

For there on your simple white cloth,

  The bloody visage of Jesus appears.

TO ST. MARTHA

You were a wonderful woman of hospitality,

  Anticipating all the guests’ needs,

While your sister sat near the Master,

  As the people He spiritually feeds;

But your mind was whirling with worry,

  Shackled by a million trifling things,

Meanwhile, the Word spoke of true freedom

  That lifted people’s souls with wings;

That day you learned an important lesson:

  First things always come first,

If we drink of the Lord’s living water,

  Then for the world we will never thirst.

TO ST. MARY MAGDALENE

Your attractive dark hair,

very long and wavy,

flowed aimlessly and

hopelessly over your

darkened eyes --

you were worn out

by the world’s dirty coins

and dirtier men.

But when you met

Him, the brightest light

of the purest love

streamed into your eyes,

driving the deadly demons

into a fearful frenzy and --

suddenly -- you found yourself

finally free.

Then, on the third day,

you giggled like a little girl

as you jubilantly ran

from the tomb

to the upper room

of your heart,

with a smile sparkling

and a soul soaring.

TO ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST

In humility you

   wear camel’s hair,

And your faith in God

   is extremely rare;

True repentance is

   your counsel for all,

Helping poor sinners

   to avoid a fall;

You detest the cruel

   world’s horrible lies,

For verily you are

   both strong and wise;

Then one day you see

   the holy white Dove,

And know that you

have finally found Love.

TO ST. ANNE

As the wind blows,

Your wise brown eyes

Are covered by wisps

Of your brown hair;

You watch your

Little Maria,

Your saintly cherub,

Skipping away

With a smile;

Your finely furrowed brow

Is knitted in a knot,

As you are pensively

Waiting, wondering:

What does the Mighty One

Have in mind for my

Darling dark-haired daughter?

May the Messiah be on the move?

TO ST. MATTHIAS THE APOSTLE

You were added to the Eleven just a little bit later,

you’re the one who is known for replacing the traitor;

You were a part of the mission of the seventy-two,

and you saw how Jesus’ power made all things new;

On Pentecost you received the promised Paraclete,

and heard the first papal speech of good old St. Pete;

You mortified your flesh to kill your desire,

coupled with virtue, it helped put out the fire;

As a martyr, you were stoned in the year 80 A.D.,

now surrounded by Love, you’re finally free.