Hole.

Holy water valentine, whose lips are cherry red,
strolls into the pastor’s shrine, thoughts filled with dread.

Temptations consume her, she is burning in her sin.

She clutches her rosary so tightly it makes her singe.

“Father, father, help me.  Forgive my evil deeds,”
she calls out for mercy, or a cure for her disease.

Her fishnet stockings tell a different story,
one many believe is inspired by greed.

 But with the Lord as her witness,
she only worked the streets so she could eat.

Jezebel of virtue, once she was so pure.

Devoid of any wrongdoing, that was her allure.

The other congregants turn up their noses when she walks.

They return to their stone houses, before pelting her with rocks.