Art thou asleep?
Art thou asleep father john?
Awkward for her. A dear li’l sixteen year old, all alone in the rich prissy neighbourhood and all she knew of the language they spoke was the words of the song she sung the children to sleep each night.
frere jacques ferre jacques dormez-vous dormez-vous…
And even that she hummed the last bit, for she did not know the words.
Sometimes she reverted back to english.
morning bells are ringing, morning bells are rining, ding ding dong, ding ding dong.
She crept into his office, Father John. Sure enough he was asleep. Afraid to wake him she crept back out again and back to the seminary, dear little Miss Muffet who likes strawberry shortcakes, she was too afraid to wake Father John. So she lay in bed and her thoughts went all arond the mulberry bush. She was so tempted to uproot that bush.
She diverted but then all she could hear were the children singing ring-a-ring-a roses again and again. Drove her nuts. She had to leave before Mary Mary quite contrary came around to water them gardens. She packed them bags.
Dear little sixteen year old whose grandfather’s clock stopped, and gone was her guardian and only relative, for she was nobody’s child. She was sent to Father John.
Father John was nice, except he was asleep most of the time, and when he was awake, he took no interest in the real world. All he talked about with her were of big fishes, and Jack’s beanstalk, fee fi fo fum, the next door lady lives in a shoe.
Probably because the only real thing he remembers was the London bridge falling down, and no he didn’t want to reminisce on that. Who would?
And so she packed her bags and ran to catch Michael as he rowed the boat ashore, She asked if he could row her back out again to the other side of the river. She ran pass humpty, who seemed to keep insisting he saw the cow jump over the moon, she could care less.
She wanted something real. So she ran pass bubbly Mary whose carpet bag seemed too light to hold that horse she just pulled out, and dear Mr chimney sweep lifting his hat off to her greeting her – supercalafrgalistic-god-knows-how-you-spell-it.
And then she walked past skinny Jack Spratt who waved and greeted her in the middle of arguing with his wife, and then sure enough she passed the old woman who lived in her shoe.
Good grief! And then pop went the weasel as it ran pass her, and she thought, Father John! he must be awake now.
She must go back for she’s just been a bit silly.
So she turned around, and left her silliness behind and trotted back to neverland where Peter Pan was a really good friend.
And there he was father john, wide awake and smiling, protecting her from dear handsome Georgie-porgie who thought he could kiss all them gals.
Peter piper there again, with all those rats behind him, and there in Father John’s office, two new friends, just like her, dear Gretel, gingerbread still in hand, and her brother Hansel.
Hansel was to cook for them. How lovely.
And then she passed by Mary who was quite contrary, as she walked back to her room which was beside the little girl who always wore a red riding hood, who always told of how her grandma was eaten by a wolf. NASTY!
She crept back into bed, and closed her eyes, exhausted. How glad she is to be back in Frere Jacques’ care.
And then tomorrow, awaits her and unlike Oliver Twists’ dreadful meals, Hansel always cooks up some lovely pot-roast.
She sighed in relief. This was blessings indeed.