Creativity Magazine


By Mike Bullock

T'wer Sunday morning, I got to church
I wandered in to find my perch
But when I found my usual pew
Imagine what came into view
An alien in my posterial place
Where I did rest my weary base.

Shocked is how I felt that day
A gert big Anglican in my way
So off I stomped, aflame with pride
To find a place where I could hide
Forgiveness, it did not exist
Another name upon my list

The Lord, He came, and had a chat
I felt just like a spoilt brat
It seems that I had made Him sad
By worldly thoughts, cause I was mad
Repenting quickly, I was spared
The King of love, He really cared.

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