Palm Sunday. A poem by Francis X. Edwards

Palm Sunday
Cathedral bells ring in empty air
above the empty dome
The Corrib’s fast waters flow
from the Salmon Weir past the quiet stones
of deserted streets and lanes
under silent bridges and out into the bay.

Like the air above the Cathedral, Galway lies empty
No footfall echoes on the medieval stones
St. Nicolas and Spanish Arch stand in reverent witness
to the cobbled quiet of the Latin Quarter,
the eerie calm of its narrow alleys and lanes

Palm Sunday
No frond waving crowds in the streets hailing a thorny king
A different king has arrived wearing another crown
Commanding respect, he is no respecter of status
Gender, race, or age; this king doesn’t care for all that
Labourer, Prime-Minister, nurse, child
He will hold court in your body, set his throne in your lungs
And proclaim his dominion

Long standing democracies tremble before his face
Economies quiver at his approach
Will the new king cut down the nations as we know them?
Will he call down a comet to be his right hand
to tear down, destroy, and build something new?

I fear that if we kill this king
After three days he may rise again
And prove to be
A harsh and ruthless saviour


Francis Xavier Edwards is a musician and songwriter and occasional poet who has lived and travelled in more than thirty countries. Inspired by the poetry scene in Galway, he has dedicated himself to further develop his writing and share in the joy of poetry so evident in the region. He is currently based in Galway.



  1. Sober, thought provoking poem…appropriate for this exact moment in the history of the world. Thank you for sharing Francis. May love and reason prevail.

  2. This poem has great perception of who a what the virus truly is.

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