Sonnet at Eliot’s Tomb
“Ah yes,” you say, “but did this man believe?
He talked the part, yet claimed his Church not for
its truth, but as a way his type might thieve
the humble’s rights; for this, and nothing more.
This clever man could hide his motives well.
The Church was his last hope to save prestige.
He sought no grace, much less did he fear hell;
to him, the Mass insured a Lord and liege.
And so,” you ask, “was this a show of faith,
a scripted part, the final Possum pose?”
Ten readers would dismiss this chilly wraith
for every one who’s seen his grave and knows:
cut stone still greets East Coker’s dead patrol,
bids pilgrims pray for his departed soul.
*Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons
