Across the wondrous internet
The vicar’s kitchen candles set
Upon some table, from Ikea,
With fair white linen cloth all spread,
And cup, and the Communion bread.
Not church, but still, the right idea.
It calls the faithful to the fold,
The elderly and getting old,
The monitor beside the fire,
The cat can stay, he hates the rain
No need for limping down the lane,
Perhaps the clergy should retire?
How warm the many candles shine
On heavy prickets, whose design
Had not a dining room in mind
So seem to fit the home/church scheme.
As vicar warms to leftish theme,
We bow our heads, we’re not unkind.
And yet we still must drift away
And think our own prayers, for today,
The fourth of Easter, time has flown,
And we, to some extent, are lost
We need the chalice and the host,
At home, in territory unknown.
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