Pudsy Kelly

     Our Fifth Grade teacher at St. Patricks School on Peoria's Southside, Sister Mary Adolphine, S.S.N.D., after noon recess, to settle us down, would read to us.  One of the books was Marjorie Kinnen Rawlings book, The Yearling.  She helped foster my love of reading.  She also read us a series of poems written by Patrick O'Conner, a Columban Priest.  The poems came from a couple of books written in 1942, very Catholic, and by today's standards, a little schmaltzy, but I still love them.   A couple of years ago, I found one of the books on Amazon and the other day, while looking for something for Christmas week, I picked up my copy of  Pudsy Kelly's Follower and found this beloved poem.  I intend to blog the Christmas one later.

                    Just For A Minute
I remember, when I was only four,
Mother would bring me round to the store,
And just outside of the church she'd stand,
And "Come in," she'd say, reaching down for my hand,
                    "Just for a minute."
And then when I started going to school,
She'd bring me down every day as a rule;
But first the steps of the church we'd climb
She'd say: "We'll go in - you've always got time -
                      Just for a minute."
Then I got real big, I mean seven years old,
And I went by myself, but was always told:
"When you're passing the church don't forget to call,
And tell Our Lord about lessons and all
                      Just for a minute."
Sometimes I run the most of the way,
Or meet some guys and we stop to play;
But I manage to squeeze out time enough
To make for the church, where I pant and puff
                      Just for a minute.
And now it's a sort of habit I've got
In the evening, coming from Casey's lot,
Though it takes me out of my way a bit,
To slip into the church with my bat and mitt
                     Just for a minute.
There are things inside of me, bad and good,
That nobody knows, and nobody could.
Excepting Our Lord, and I like Him to know,
And He helps, when in for a visit I go
                     Just for a minute.
He finds it lonesome when nobody comes
(There are hours upon hours when nobody comes).
And He's  pleased when anyone passing by
Stops in (though it's only a little guy)
                     Just for a minute.
I know what happens when people die,
But I won't be scared, and I'll tell you why:
When Our Lord is judging my soul, I feel
He'll remember the times I went in to kneel
                     Just for a minute.