I once attended a church that had an amazingly complex system for following the service. I was inspired to write the following sonnet:
The sermon's not the only path in church
To learn of sins and how they do defile
The human soul. One hasn't far to search.
The service leaflet proves the perfect trial.
My awe is tinged with envy as I hear
The others jump to Book of Common Prayer
And back again with ease, as rage may rear
Its head as inserts green and pink prepare
To flutter off and land ahead one pew.
To sing, I grab the hymnal book with greed.
I pride my skills compared with someone new
But find they're still of insufficient speed.
In sloth, I cease to follow or to ponder.
The other sins are where my thoughts will wander.
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