Fashionable, The Unseemly Lexicographer
There is, I've heard, an organist, who plays at half past three
Regardless of the hour when the service ought to be
He little cares for sermons, or the congregation's drone
And much prefers to practise when he thinks he's all alone
But, snug within her hiding-place beneath the second pew,
A damsel with a dulcimer prepares to make her coup
She's heard all his recitals, hidden safe within her lair
And sets a trap to catch him when she thinks there's no-one there
But, watching from the shadows on the far side of the nave,
An armour-clad impostor lies immobile on a grave
He little cares for music, but he's mad about the maid
And thinks that he's the only skulker leering from the shade
But, unbeknownst to all the watchers hiding out of sight,
The apse is crammed with agents, waiting silent 'til the night
They've heard that on each Sunday night a dreadful deal is done
By those who think the company is limited to one
But, watching with all-seeing eyes from organ-loft above,
A wolf in sheepish clothing, a raven in a dove
The agent of Beelzebub stares down upon the throng
Who think themselves the arbiters where right contends with wrong
But, as is clear to anyone who's read the Holy Writ,
The eagle may consult the mole, the heavens woo the pit
And vigilance eternal is the price for staying pure
For those who watch on those who wait on those who think they're sure ...
| Contributors: | TG, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 7th January 2001. |