Quaker Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

On the top of old Mount Baker
stood a bald and bearded Quaker.
Prayed to God and stated loudly
and with arrogance quite proudly

that your prayer reaches Heaven
usually before eleven,
that's when God has his Wild Turkey
to wash down Oberto's Jerky.

If you want, the Quaker stated
that your prayer is debated
by the gods without postponement
showing clearly your atonement

it is best to climb a mountain,
which can be a trusted fountain,
plus, a bonus if the timing
has been right and all your climbing
means you really jump the queue,
says the Quaker: Lucky you.