To remember what He lost for me,
The suffering of our common LORD
To buy the sins we can't afford.
We recall our destiny is ash,
That we were born unto the lash-
That death will come for bad and good
And every infant in the brood.
But on this solemn, holy day,
We who like life bitter, anyway,
Can find ourselves a bit confounded
To suppress the grin as frowns surround us.
Entrapped, we hope Lent to observe
With little dour in reserve
But suffering suffering joyously.
At least there's truth to set us free.
REMORSE, n. The regret we suffer for enjoying our neighbor's sorrow, commonly mild.