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I sat at the end of the pew next to a teenage acne champ.
The preacher said Hug the person next to you
Show your love for fellow man. I shook his hand.
My hand was damp from his, or writer's cramp.
Regular visitor I might be, but I don't take kindly to
Preachers who fail to understand,
My dilemma. You see, I don't love my neighbour.
This huge teenage spot can explode for all I care,
I've scraped the likes of him from my boots.
A helter skelter lifetime, love, sorrow and labour.
Now I'm supposed to hug HIM during Evening Prayer.
I've had the roots and shoots of life, now I'm gathering the fruits?
Tell your neighbour you love him!
Now I might, if he'd take this damned knife from my back.
This waster took my wallet, was spotted, and escorted me in.
At the moment, all seems grim,
No cars or aeroplanes involved in this particular man-jack
I feel like the proverbial bowling-pin.
So, OK, in walks Edna, who'd come to put flowers on a grave,
And saw this teenage spot take my dosh and me in Church.
Walks over to us, leans over to him, says don't you know what you've done?
Now, I normally behave, but Edna was so brave,
So I leaned forward, cos I thought Edna had the right of search.
She grabbed the knife and finished what she and he had begun
And it wasn't until much later that I realised, that Edna
Or rather that he, was the Mother's (Edna's) son.
So when I go to Church now, I pray for Edna and her son,
And for the tragedy that wiped out their kin.
And for love and compassion to our neighbours,
I take it and I give it and I take it on the chin.
Edna and son, I send to you love and peace.
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