Studied at a seminary – near Stow on the Wold
When ordained his exuberance was a sight to behold;
His parents were ecstatic, so forthright and loud
At the Charity Guild – mother utters, “We’re just so proud.”
Evenings at the drug clinic, he would lend his support
Using all people techniques that he had been taught,
He shared his table with the homeless and the poor
Always open was his presbytery door.
Holding hands and offering stout advice
A smile, a kind word; its easy to be nice.
He set up a soup kitchen in the shabby part of town
For the children in the hospice, he’s the present bearing clown.
Like gatecrashers at funerals fuelled his own concern
Their inter insecurities, what reward do they earn?
Of loneliness and futility would caused him such pain
Us pitifully needy humans, are we all lost to blame?
David would visit the elderly and those recently bereaved
A devote man on a mission or so one perceived;
He painfully wrote his sermon for the dutiful heard
But cringed to himself, now not believing a single word.
He met Veronica in Hove, at a theatre workshop class
A secret passion kindled, as they parodied a farce,
“I’m a big Coldplay fan” brought the chat up to a halt
But David was ex grammar school, so not really his fault.
Flamboyantly persisting to sharing loves exciting spark
Just like a steam train in a tunnel, emerging from the dark,
Confessed his fondness for cricket, so they both watched the Ashes
She now supports Horsham CC and he Bats For Lashes.
They made such a nice couple, said her brother Roy
Debating Care in the Community and enjoying Tolstoy;
I ‘ave lost my faith, but still passionate about human rights
Staring at her long legs, in saucy patterned tights.
Challenging with gusto – one of David’s stanch taboos
They both got embellished, with matching body tattoos.
Now hummingbirds encircle the naked torso pair
And their secret liaison blossomed, away from public glare.
Whilst fumbling in the sacristy among the cassocks and habits
Their ardour now overwhelmed, and then they’re at it like rabbits,
First oral sex then doggy fashion, each time after mass;
If only the guilt of the transgression would as rapidly pass.
On cold winter evening she’d approach him in his lair
Through the confessional’s wooden lattice, at him she would stare.
“Bless me Father, for I am so much misbegotten
I’m hot and damp for and my knickers I’ve forgotten.”
They would go for rides in Veronica’s – Anglia 105E
And stop at picturesque villages for jam scones and tea,
Without his clerical collar they could frolic incognito
Let their passion boil over, vent the energy of their libido.
She’d pander to his obsession about some obscure saint
And then indulged in frenzied colitis, with reputations to taint.
Veronica was not religious, but instead became his saviour
David was attracted, to her confident loving behaviour.
Racked with conscience, my job is to inspire good
To continue the situation, “continue I should?”
If you don’t believe the ideology, why such guilt
I’m forever what I was born, just the way I’m built.
He despised some rich parishioners and their gross attitudes
Yet supplied Holy Communion with righteous platitudes;
Giving to both the lowly and the great, just what they want
Next day a christening at the alabaster stone font.
Veronica joked; tell your flock or the bishop you must
The incumbent local priest, you’re a pillar of trust
Ravaged with notions of culpability, he considered to resign
So he visited his Bishop, in his mansion so fine.
A tall bald pious man, with the brogue in his voice
David confessed in full and explained his choice,
After quiet contemplation, his Excellency he ruled
You’re my most genuine priest, so don’t be fooled.
Most others are selfish, too blinded by their need
Only cater to rich parishioners and where it would lead,
Some have stolen church funds and others much worst
Caught flagrante delicto with the scouts, by Bridget the nurse.
Tell me, you do not believe church doctrine any more
But was it only ever about compassion and in life you adore.
As for your friend Miss Veronica, if you re both discrete
Your encounters, love and passion you must not tweet.
Sometimes we all seek comfort, in another’s arms
Mary Magdalene and Himself – never mentioned in the palms;
So go off and continue I say, for mankind at least
For your flock, Veronica and me, because you make a fine priest.
