Sunday morning after church, The choirs gone, the pews are searched. Sweaters, wallets left behind; Hymnals weathered where they bind. A sermon filled with hope and praise For God’s own Son that Mary raised. Those rejoice who once were down, Find their cars and head for town. To congregants, they bid goodbyes Then to the market for supplies. Resume the lives they left in store When they went through the chapel’s door. Transforming into comfort dressed, Shed discomfort, Sunday’s best. Families gather through the age, Sunday dinner’s on the stage, Another week will come and go Before returning to the show; A week of work or school or play, And in between a few will pray. A ritual, perhaps who knows For sure the thoughts and minds of those Who seek the solace chapels hold Find comfort in the hands that fold.