The sweetest bud on the church’s rose,
Is Father Christian’s gin-blossom’d nose.
The GAFCON sneer, his righteous sight,
The crazed assurance that he is right.
Where lesser Priests doth fear to go,
Our Doctor Troll strikes sinners low.
Smiting with his subtle hands,
From Ichabod Springs, across all lands.
His Adsense links are sweet and true,
And generate much revenue;
While each day’s message causeth all to think,
Beneath his light, the mortal blink.
Viagravillains, full of bile,
Come by each day, and stay a while
Hoping that they might find on view
Sufficient libel for which to sue.
Yet never think that they will catch
This noble Priest beyond their match.
Each word he posts has been first checked
By a Council of Angels, in flowers bedecked.
His word is straight, if not his staff,
Sorting wheat from tares and chaff.
Indeed, his mind is never idle,
He’s Father Christian, and he teacheth the Bible.
5 comments :
Father Christian's words are bold.
Much more so than David Ould.
Dr Troll makes us clap
Much louder than Viagran crap.
Thank you Mr Herbert.
I remain dazzled by your talent (and Father David Heron´s too).
I love to read GAFCON, thus I say,
It's better than watching Jackie bray
Or the likes of Sarah Hey
So obsessed over all that is Gay
And Nazi history makes Matt Kennedy's day
Posting about bestiality makes their blog's vision quite blurred...and...
obscured
Why don't they just open a new parish?
"The Church of the Good German Shep-herd"
Ah yes, we miss the righteous soul
Of Reverend Dr. Christian Troll
Alas, imbibe (I think I might)
'til his return shall set me right.
Oh, the sweet sound of poetry -- who would have ever thunk it? ;-]
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