Dressing to Meet My Maker

My back it was a-aching so I went to see the medic,
He told me I was dying and sent me to a cleric,
The cleric said that I had sins, upon my puny chest,
I said you must be crazy, that is my old string vest.

But he sent me to confession, and at last I was absolved,
My sins, he said, like headache pills, were now all quite dissolved,
But my vest it was still with me, stuck there to my chest.
How can I go and meet my God if I don’t look my best?

So Father, can you tell me, how I should dress for God?
Should I go out angel fishing with a reel and line and rod?
Or will his Godness meet me, out side the pearly gates,
And share with me his passion for the novels of Dorn Yates?

But all this talk of dying is making my poor heart quake,
So I went and told my doctor that I’d live with the back ache!

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Filed under black humor, black humour, comic verse, funny poem, humorous verse, Nonsense verse, whimsy

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