Saint of sestinas, sonnets and robots,
patron of science and sweet baking cakes,
why limit yourself to worshipful tots?
When you could be prayed to by handsome rakes?
Rolex wearing and luxury driving
cheapskates? Neon halos cap steeples in
crisp mega-storied cities; they’re falling
into ruin. Its’ patrons are dice’n
and betting on saints. Where’s their halos now?
Their ivory gowns and soft folded wings?
Do prayers wing to them? Does grief make them bow
down and weep? On bended knee do they sing
of a better world not yet brought to earth?
Oh patron saint, bring that new earth to birth.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A True Saint.”