Last Sunday on route to my church
I looked up to the top of a birch,
though the tree pure white
I could see in the light
that a figure was up on a perch.
No it wasn't a feather-clad bird,
he was brown like the colour of turd,
and one foot had no toes
and black snot marked his nose
I was stunned, and I give you my word
it was Satan, he aimed his third leg
like an ebony, hairy thin peg,
at the folks who were keen
to be present and seen
and receive a fresh dose of nutmeg.
Well, whatever they use with the wine
it is God's own command which is fine.
All the folks prayed a lot
and at home they smoked pot,
but on Sundays they did toe the line.
So the Devil had made an attempt
to have citizens changed to excempt,
that's a status of sin
which the Devil would win
he could hurl at our God his contempt.
So I stopped and attached a strong rope
to the tree and the people got hope,
with the power of eight
it was wonderful, Mate.
No, the bastard could no longer cope.
So the tree fell and people just cheered,
but at first it looked strange and appeared
that the Devil had hung
from the lowermost rung
of the heavenly ladder, they feared
that the fall had not killed him at once
so the townfolks went home for their guns.
But the Devil did die
and they said their good-bye
not aware that the Devil had sons.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/limerick-practice-2008/
