Whale Of A Tale Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Hail bishop with memory frail
wound up when night's sup d[r]owned pale ale,
in Tooting Bec Garden
sin rooting wreck, hard-on,
but confessions too catholic fail.

Head made headlines, unfortunate tale,
he could make neither heads or tails, bail
may be sought for the sot
got his lot, potty plot
grows thicker, and sicker, all quail.

For at least from his priests rose gale wail
on the whale of the tale, they'd prevail
on the bish with boys' toys
who should fish for souls' buoys,
for repentance for leaving gael trail.