...and the last shall be first

The

Loser's

Prayer

The present profound,

Given

To thee...

The sacred Mass, eternally.

No money, car,

House or thing,

Will ever make

Your soul quite sing

The way it does,

If rich or poor,

Makes sinners, saints,

A holy lure.

Will take your tears

You shed in pain

And turn all loss

Into your gain.

Where heavy hearts,

They go to pray,

At dawn's first light,

At break of day.

Where miracles

That never die,

Will lighten hearts

So they can fly

Out in the world,

But never of...

Candle light

And rock salt love.

The sacred Mass,

Toward rising sun,

And sun, she scolds...

"He rose, you've won!"