Violet hue on fall and priest,
Crosses veiled on either side.
Gloria in Excelsis ceased.
Now we enter Lenten-tide.

Bowl of ash await our prayer,
Mortal faithful need their signs.
Burnt palm crosses should be there,
With some charred strips of the Times.

Father moves as servers stand,
People kneel at altar rails,
Then he washes just his hand,
Leaving ash 'neath fingernails.