my mother is a cathedral, pretty and tall

my mother is a cathedral, pretty and tall

as her feet stand firm as marble steps,

her voice rings with a churchbell's call

her arms are pews, with whom recept-

tion warms her congregation with song

of her fingers grazing of their hands

as they are lifted for the prayer, sweet and long

as a little priest within her soul commands

my mother's words are Communion, taken with praise

and her kisses upon their cheeks are the wine

from which they sip, and the little priest shall raise

the cup of my mother's lips to the divine

my mother is a cathedral, pretty and tall

and her son is an alter boy, nothing but small