Again, you didn’t make it to church.
It’s the third week in a row
You’ve missed Sunday service.
You said it was too cold to go to church.
You did go out, though, to visit with your girlfriend,
Ignoring your mother’s words:
It’s the Lord’s Day, son. Go to church, or go nowhere.
The showers drenched you, and Hannah wasn’t home.
You stood waiting outside the door, worsening the cold.
Now the meds say it’s bronchitis,
Your mom says it’s God’s wrath
Because you’ve lost regard for Sunday.