As the Vicar ascended the church pulpit,
to give his weekly God-inspired talk,
he peered out over the congregation,
and at one young gal his eyes did balk.
...
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I wish Ruth Walters too had read this poem and made some comment. A bit too risque though, the Vicars vision has been described in a risk free manner.
In the front pew, a rough wooden bench......beautiful humour poem shared. Personal realization is in beautiful mode. Always your words do magic. Excellent one.
The ‘comely maiden' could be an Indian from India, because knickers (I think) are pretty costly here. At least, so says my wife. : )