THE COLLECTION PLATE
Solemn is the aura
Beyond silence
As the priest lifts up the chalice
And into it pours
The blood of Jesus.
Its time for the plate
To do the rounds
A little hand reaches out
Begging of its mother
A little coin is placed.
The plate comes around
The little hand draws back
Another pushes it forward
A whisper, admonition
Tis not yours.
Give it now.
A clink in the plate
And it moves on.
Holy hands reach up in blessing
Bowed heads receive the Spirit
Go out, give peace.
Rejoice.
The little hand now reaches out
A plea for some candy
His mother smiles
And from the purse
Comes out a note,
Crisp, costly, coveted.
A cone in hand,
The child rejoices.
Peace given.
Go, going, gone.
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