[Douglas G. Brown]

Father, this is sloppy stuff;
You speak to God right off the cuff
In meter which is out of whack;
Couple-coloured Holstein white and black.

Your scansion’s slack, your rhythm’s sprung;
For lesser wrongs, I’ve seen lads hung.
Why mess with stuff you can’t do well?
Please stick to candle, book, and bell.

Be happy with your cloistered life,
You’ll never have a fractious wife;
Instead you can explore the joys
That clerics seek with younger boys.

(A predilection, I’ll admit
I suffer from myself, a bit;
And hint about, from time to time
In meter, using proper rhyme.)