For all the Saints, who since Thursday will rest
Until next Sunday, when San Francisco
Shall play them as with Lucifer possessed,
For Saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands forgo,
For saints must make two miracles occur
To be considered thus by orthodoxy.
But if a mundane wonder one prefers,
Would that not be a kind of paradoxy?
That happenstance that happens to bring joy,
Those grand coincidences that conspire
To bring indulgences that never cloy-
Can such a thing by happy chance transpire?
Such pleasing things fill hearts with gratitude,
Reminding us of our beatitude.