Poetry Corner

Folks, not to be outdone by the SGG Bulletin’s Poetry Corner, we have decided to offer our own poetic rendering, except that we’re doing them even one better – make that two better.  First, the following is not just a poem, but a song as well (to the tune of that famous Irish air, Danny Boy).  Secondly, it is a song with a link (Bishop’s Lodge;).  We thought it just might pique the reader’s interest as to why we did that.  Yes, there’s a reason!  We’ll leave it to you to ponder.  So, without further ado…

Danny Boy

Oh Danny Boy, the sheep, the sheep are calling

For you and Tony boy to go bye bye;

No more of jaunts with Tony to the Bishop’s Lodge;

No more of gourmet food or living high.

But come ye back when the sheep are in the meadow,

There, with our tar and feathers, we will be.

You’d better skip, you and your shadow;

Get out of Dodge, you snakes, and let us be.

Oh Danny boy, your revenue’s a-falling;

It won’t be long, until you snakes are through.

The cult’s defection rate, it’s quite appalling

The sheep in droves, in droves, are leaving you.

But you don’t care, if you can go on living

With what you’ve swiped of St. Clare’s hard-earned cash;

It doesn’t matter what the sheep are giving;

You can survive, you’ll still have quite a handy stash.

But Danny boy, don’t count on that forever,

You’ll need some better ways to bring in dough

Than Tony’s book, which you think’s really clever;

But like S-G-G, it’s just another “show.”

For Tony’s book, you see, it’s not a-selling,

Because it’s full of trite, sarcastic pap;

And its reviews, well they are just a-smelling.

In short, it’s just not selling really worth a crap.

And now the flock, your remnant flock, is shrinking;

And by and large, they’ve all been vacuumed dry.

So if I were you, I really would be thinking

It’s time to grab what’s left, and go bye bye.

Bye bye to Mark, and to his band of bestial thugs.

Who’ve misbehaved in oh so many, many ways.

Whether it be obscene gestures or illegal drugs

They’ve done their part to number all your days.

Bye bye as well to Puccini and Vivaldi,

Those spoiled cats, that you dearly loved so well.

For budget’s sake, it will be such a pity

To have to say goodbye to them as well.

But you can bequeath the both of them to Marky’s boys,

Who from their watching all those torture flicks,

Will find some way to take these new-found kitty toys,

Some way, some way, to get their sick, sadistic kicks.

But you shouldn’t mind, as you boasted once before,

“Boys will be boys” -- I think that was your brazen phrase.

Just as in Terri’s case, you’ve no compassion any more.

The likes of you, that really should not faze.

Because it’s Mammon – that is what you’re all about,

It’s not our souls, our lives for which you really care.

The only thing for which you really care about

Is whom you can get to pay your earthly fare.

This is a ploy, that’s in the past worked really well;

It kept the worldly cares from without your door.

But will it really keep you from the gates of hell?

What will you do, when death comes knocking at your door?

When come ye back to face your Maker once again,

When comes that time, then think of where you will go.

‘Cause when your fortune’s gone and life’s at bitter end,

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, He’ll judge you so.

Yes, Danny boy -- Oh, Danny boy -- He’ll judge you so…