Song for father Kapaun
Father Kapaun you remember what it’s like down here on Earth,
On the country roads of Pilsen, in the farmland of your birth.
How we scrape and how we toil just to grow our daily bread.
And to save a little money once we’re sure that our kids are fed.
On our mantle is a photo that I know I’ll always keep.
You’re saying Mass out in the field, and the altar is your jeep.
So many miles for your soldiers in the dust and in the mud,
So that the bread would be his body and the wine would be his blood.
My baby boy was in the NICU when we named him after you.
All November and December, begging God to see him through.
Those eight weeks have made me certain no matter what they say in Rome,
You’re a saint whose intercession helped to bring my baby home
Well the news struck like lightning, spread like fire across the plains.
That the army had really done it, finally found your lost remains.
I suspect you saints in heaven have not a care about your bones.
But for those of us in Kansas, we need to bring your body home,
So I’ll be praying at St. Mary’s when they bring your body home.