The Village – A Story in Eight Pieces

III. The Church of St George

Green is the Altar, a table, today,
And Ben is our Bishop, who’ll visit one day.

Blessed is the Candle, with book and with bell,
Helping the Dean, send demons to Hell.

Eddie’s an Eagle, he’s made out of brass,
Admiring the Flowers, arranged by Miss Glass.

Stained is the Glass in the windows so bright,
Which with our Hymns, sends joy to the height.

Heavenly Incense, clouds flying like geese,
Blessing the Jurats, for keeping the peace.

Stout are the Kingposts supporting the roof,
Above the brass Lectern – that Eagle’ aloof!

We always hear Mass, we’re High Church round here,
Suiting the Nuns from the Convent quite near.

Ann is our Organist, ever adept,
While safe is the Pyx, where the Host it is kept.

The Quad is quite early, ’tis the cloister you see,
While the Rood was replaced in 1603.

Small is our Spire, barely reaching the sky,
On top of the Tower from which the bats fly.

You Unbelievers are certain for Hell,
And so is the Vandal, he’ll go there as well.

There’s Wilma the Witch who never comes near,
While X is we Christians, faithful and clear.

Uncaring the Yob, with hardly a nod,
Unlike the Zealot, ever speaking to God.