Clasping the edges of the book
‘Let us whine’, the vicar droned
Around the church he cast a look
‘Give us a sign’, he moaned

A sudden noise and pungent smell
Then drifted down the aisle
One old lady didn’t look too well
The faces of the rest in denial

Soon suspicion fell on Etta Bind
Verily, there was no mystery
A nasty blast from her behind
They all knew she had a history

On the day she was Christened
In the font, she’d had a crap
Since that day she’d never listened
Thought religion was a trap


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