Tilted Halos

Upon the pew in dignity,

We four did sit, our family

My man and I, and children two,

Braced for noise, complaints, or goo.

Our twins were small, a squirmy pair,

And why most Masses passed unshared,

We marveled at their quietude,

and hoped that this time, peace ensued.

We proudly sat, as readings were read,

the homily finished, and prayers were said,

Then row by row the the basket passed by,

And my husband dropped in our weekly tithe.

Then loudly one angel was heard to declare,

"Papa, your wallet still has money in there!"

She reached for the wallet as if to give more,

Then the congregation shook, and it roared.

We both slithered lower into our pew,

Our faces burned, but still, we knew

We had paid for our quiet, peaceful Mass

(embarrassed we were, but still in all,)

it wasn't too bad of a Sunday we passed!