LISPA chance glance made me think of Chailey'sSt.Martins chapel, the ceiling;Angel bosses aboveIn gold and blue splendour.Polishing the brass on SaturdaysFingers black. The altar that I neverTouched, the organ, small but it could thunderThe Trumpet Voluntary.Sunday, and I walk with dreadPraying that the lessonDoes not have the wordsI feared. "Please God make itThat someone else would have them."'JESUS OF NAZARETH 'I recited the words under my breath.JESUTH of NATHERETH.My lisp worsened, I worked the wordsOver and over, blushingIf someone passed me.JESUTH OF NAZARETHNo good, it wouldn't shapeTo fit my mouth. My mouth and tongueCouldn't shape the words.Did any notice it but meWhen I read the lesson?Then an angel boss winked at meAnd I forgot the lisp and smiled.