Church Of England 2012 Poem by David Wood

The Church of England, so predictable.
That bastion of souls, all respectable.
With trendy vicars toeing the line,
Hapless curates taking their time.

Of women bishops marching in the fray,
And other clergy feeling gay.
A lefty Archbishop with an old grey beard,
A congregation thinking it all too weird.

Arranging flowers the elderly Mrs Brown,
The choirmaster, man about town.
The verger hardworking and honest,
The organ master writing a sonnet.

The leaking roof about to cave in,
With the next sermon all about sin.
The bells ring out in perfect chime.
The whole church way behind time.