They're all here,
these three seekers of truth
who've found ahead of me
the highest form
of chivalry
in the vineyard of the Lord
this part of East Harlem:
Padre Angel, the impresario of veladas
back in our university days
when wasted manpower
was as alien as terror attacks
and the faithful made
the sign of the cross
in honor of the Blessed Trinity
every time they met three friars
walking together
in white habit;
he's the superior,
the pastor of the Holy Rosary Parish,
the soft-spoken angel
who speaks the best Spanish
this part of East Harlem;
Padre Pepe,
whose sephardic lineage
radiates in the way he prepares
our weekend meals
when Yolanda the cook
takes her weekend break;
the friar who puts work
the main ingredient of his life
this part of East Harlem;
Padre Abel the philosopher,
whose hospital ministry
enriches our community life
with his cleanliness and godliness
this part of East Harlem.
More than missionaries these three--
unrecognized, unheralded, unsung--
labor tirelessly, unceasingly, joyfully
in the vineyard of the Lord
this part of East Harlem.
