Comforting the lonely widow
A Parish priest became aware
She needed more than holy comfort
So ran his fingers through her hair.
He blessed her soul with words of wisdom
And calmed her heaving bosom so
She quickly felt a little comfort
Rising from his pants below.
Trying through her deep despair
To show no sign of wondrous lust
She took the vicar's bless-ed hand
And placed it on her heaving bust.
Locked in such a warm embrace
They coupled, in the wake of death
But in the throes of such excitement
The vicar stopped to gasp for breath.
Within a second, he had snuffed it
The widow; comforted, lay still,
They asked someone to sit beside her
And all the men cried out, 'I Will'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem