Soliloquy

Now is the winter of my ministry Made glorious Advent by this week’s Retreat; And all the work that lour'd upon my desk In piles of papers lie to the side buried. Now is my brow less furrowed with sermon text; My PCC Agendas hung up for monuments; My diary engagements changed to merry meetings, And a wondrous march to delightful southern coast. Grim-visaged congregations hath smooth'd their wrinkled front; And now, instead of calling on the ‘phone To fright my soul with fearful news and plight, The instrument lies soundless and ringeth not. And though I to foreign Brugge have often gone, Not now traverseth I the watery main, For gentle Sisters there doth not a Guest House run, But concentrate their thought on matters spiritual. And so without a tonne of chocolate must I live, And quench my thirst with local brew Instead of wondrous ale. And yet, I shall partake of pleasant company Upon the shores of Merrie England, And sup and dine and give the gifts That doth this coming Season make.