All the hour,
The Southern hardline preacher.
Ranting and raving about morality.
Third person, second row on the left.
Her eyes explored mine,
As I dissected her dress.
Her eyes met mine.
The dress became as tissue,
In the April rain.
The service was over.
Barry A. Lanier
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/b-preacher-s-message/
