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“The mind can only tolerate  

what your arse cannot endure.”

So it turns out Shakespeare was correct

when he had Polonius, the bumbling old fool, 

expostulate that, “brevity is the soul of wit.”

My grandfather coined the former saying, 

and my son proves it true every Sunday in the pew,

for he knows the minute the preacher has preached to persistence - 

his finger peruses the bulletin checking off land marks and combing the lessons, Kyries, canticles, and prayers for the illusive closing hymn.

For when your seat has had enough, your brain must known there is an end to accompany the invocation. 


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