For those of ye who know little about me, I'll commence by saying: My name is Edward, and I come from the pearl of Africa, Uganda. I was born to a poor family but despite the fact we were destitute, there's a HERO who worked slave-like to paint a smile upon everyone's physiognomy...A Hero I'm proud to call, MY FATHER. We dwelt upon a small piece of land in a single room by the heart of a slum zone, and that was the place we called home. Wild was the environment and to pile on the agony, as a peculiar dark fate bore it, without my family's consent the piece of land where we dwelt was sold by some mean family members hence we had to look for a new home and the end result was, my family had to split....The two young sisters of mine went with my beloved Mom whilst I with my Dad. I stayed with Him in the far countryside for a while but as time drifted by and by, I no longer wished to put up in the countryside hence I set off to live by my own back in town. This thus completely limited me from seeing Him quite often..... The city bore all wild behaviors ye could ever imagine of under the book of life, but thank goodness I went to church....a church where serendipitously I met a British lady of God, a lady who helped me in a myriad ways I canst never explain by just mere words. At this point, I visited my father once in a blue moon, for I craved blooming to success as to surprise Him the person I'd blossomed to. By serendipity's sake, after much toiling I'd saved some money on me that could help me travel to Dubai as to seek a fortune. 'Tis at the point of departing when I visited him to say my goodbyes.... To my dismay, He was critically Ill and on asking Him why he hadn't informed me earlier, his response was that He wished not drowning me in a stream of worrying. My flight was nigh that he had to bid me adieu.....Sick as He was, He dragged out His motor cycle he hadn't rode for a while to offer me a ride.... and on asking him whether I could ride, his response was NAY but He....He was such a flint-hearted man to change his word thus through the ragged countryside he valiantly rode with his quaking hands till when we came by where I had to board a vehicle back to town. He then gave me a warm handshake and said unto me in a velvety voice..."GOODBYE SON, BE WELL" In a jiffy, the vehicle commenced moving, but through the mirror I beheld him indignantly staring at the vehicle till when i could see Him no more. That was the very last time I caught a glance at Him.....Now that I was abroad, whenever I'd call Him, he'd always tell me that He was doing quite better and recuperating. But, as a dark fate bore it, on 10th February 2017, the most heart-rending news poured into mine ear, HE HAD PASSED AWAY. Swifter than a plummeting eagle at her prey, I approached the company I'm working for seeking an emergency leave but 'twas to no avail since i couldn't cater for the air tickets fact that his Hospital bills had long drained me.
I tried as much as i could but in vain hence i couldn't burry him.

so, today is 10th again... the same day like this not so many moons ago when  he passed away, and I've decided to whisper Him this poem till we meet again. May the Lord of tender mercy judge his piteous soul with utmost kindness. Amen.

Thank ye for reading, dear friends. Take care of thy selves. God bless ye.

A number of references from "The Sermon on the Mount," particularly, "Consider the lilies of the field..."  and that "a sparrow does not fall to the ground outside the Father's notice."

White smoke is a sign to the waiting world-- that a Pope has been chosen.

An article in *The Guardian* today about how there are groups that hate the present Pope for his renunciation of  tradition, wealth, pomp, and the "Vatican Courtiers".  Made me think of this poem from a dream.  Although not a practicing Catholic, I like the present Pope.

for Chris

For everyone younger than my 23 years that's ready to go i feel your pain.