In pagan lands with purpose grand
They build a church or two
And educate the cannibals
To abandon human stew.
They show them how to join their hands
To kneel on bended knee
And explain the impropriety
Of yawns at homily.
They give the men some loincloths
Making women laugh and snigger
(until they’re wrapped in hessian sacks
that fail to flatter figures).
They gasp at all the miracles
And growl at crucifixions
But drop their eyes when all are warned
Of sexual predilections.
Before long they’re all pious folk
And act accordingly
By starting wars with holy aims
All very righteously.
They were such dreadful fighters
They ran from foreign throng
And fell to their own arrows
When headwinds were too strong.
One day the church stood empty
The priest was woebetide
What noble savages remained
Got white man’s flu and died.
The polished pews all advertised
An unbecoming void
He prayed to heaven, “God forbid
The Bishop be annoyed”.
But the Bishop in his palace
To the priest a blessing gave
And quoted theologically
‘God moves in mysterious ways’.