My pastor shapes his sermons

From A to final Z

In clear and forthright language,

And aims them straight at me.

And when he gets to preaching,

I look around to see

If there might be another

Deserving more than me.

But every soul looks saintly —

Their hearts to Heaven turn —

While I, in my conviction,

Can only sit and squirm.

You know, I often wonder,

If I should miss a day;

Would he, without his target,

Have anything to say?

– Author Unknown