The Preacher

 

On Sunday evening we to chapel go

Along the road, and sit six in a row,

And listen to the organ’s wheezy flow.

 

The preacher is a man of many parts;

He runs a farm with horses, sheep and carts;

And breaking hedges is one of his arts.

 

He thunders from the pulpit about sin,

His face all twisted in a fiendish grin;

But to be neighbourly can ne’er begin.

 

He is a man who cannot give or take,

But has a wife quite different; she can bake

The best of country scones and custard cake;

And so we listen to him for her sake !

 

Mona’s Herald     25.6.63