With prayer, I start the Thanking Day,
At dawn, I kneel, Te Deum, pray.
I dress for Mass then wake a son.
He’ll serve the priest, a chosen one.
A hushed low Mass right after Matins,
Our Lord above all sons’ gold patens.
He’ll lay upon my wicked tongue,
I pray, forgive, amidst, among
Where in the pew with head bowed low,
I give Him thanks ’till time to go
Back to the world with sin, so murky,
But now I’ve strength…
…to stuff that turkey!!
Hilary M. Flanery