Seven in the congregation
(Including moi)
Eight monks, plus the organist
We could have
A one-on-one communion
Except a man with dark glasses joins us
The old stooped monk is not present
And the new one, new to my sight at least, is bald
In the way I imagine cancer patients are
Besides the baldness
There is an awful lot of silvery grey
On parade in the choir stalls
With six men
And two women present
I wonder does man
Have more to fear
Or worry about than woman
Or are the ladies home cooking tea
The roof has nine crossed curved arches
Plus ten
Straight-across curved ones
But that is only in the knave
For sure
There will be more elsewhere
Is the lectern in the style
Of an eagle or an angel
And do they know that Donald Trump is in the country
