Extreme Christmas PoetryAnd now for

Extreme Christmas Poetry

And now for something completely different....

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
by Pete Vere

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Church,
Not a layman was stirring, for long was their search.
The rosaries were hung by their fingers with speed,
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon intercede.

The chapel was empty right down to the pew,
Shedding light on the abuses since Vatican II;
And mamma's little yawn, over at St. Herman,
Had just woken up from a long boring sermon,

When out in press there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the sackcloth and wiped off the ash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When who to my wondering eyes should show up,
But St. Nicholas flanked by a brother bishop.

For accompanying the jolly red elf from Alaska,
Was Fabian Bruskewitz of Lincoln, Nebraska
More rapid than eagles his anathemas came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and denounced them by name;

"Out Lefebvrites, call-to-action and all ye freemasons!
Or behold the wrath of my excommunications!
Outside the Church, you modernists fall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

He was dressed like a bishop, from mitre to crook,
His presence commanded, the modernists shook;
But the rest of laity flocked to his side,
And joyful and happy, they in unison cried:

"His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
How blessed we are will a full seminary!
And listen to the orthodoxy come through his teeth,
While the incense encircles his head like a wreath."

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all his parishes with orthodox perk,
Yet I heard him exclaim, as he went to his rest,
"Merry Christmas to all, Ite Missae est."