[Worship] (Poem) On the Road to Bologna

[Michael Rew <witness@visi.net>]

Dear Lads and Lasses,

You can probably tell that I have a soft spot in my heart for nonsense
and humorous verse.  It probably stems from Lewis Carroll's poems.  I
always loved his poetry!  If anyone can understand the meaning behind
this poem (which I based on a saying I made up), then please email me.
I want to know if it is understandable.

Your Net.Brother In Christ,

Michael Rew

On the Road to Bologna

I once met a man who was beating a horse,
  a horse which was quite very dead.
As it seemed to him but a matter of course,
  I thought he was touched in the head.

"Pray tell, my dear fellow, why must you keep beating
  that poor horse's carcase's hide?
It is neither neighing nor lowing nor bleating.
  Can you not well tell it has died?"

"These people," said he, "not well-versed in the Word,
  are given to fanciful charms.
Give snake oil salesmen a chance to be heard.
  They give up their legs and their arms!

"'Twas not long ago when a man of their kind
  came selling this corpse of a steed,
The people believing (though I paid no mind)
  that this horse would meet every need.

"How this could be fathomed has given me pains!
  These men are a pitiful lot.
So now I am beating some sense in their brains
  by beating up all that they bought!"

Still, I had a time understanding the whys,
  the whos and the hows and the whats
of all the deep questions with all of the lies
  while this man kept pummeling guts.

But then it had dawned on me while I had watched.
  This madman, his neighbors aghast,
was tearing apart the ideas they had botched
  because they had put the Lord last.

"Now see I why they have bought onto this scheme,"
  I said in a rather loud blather.
"But still, to my reason, it seems so extreme
  to work yourself into a lather!"

"You think that I only must beat this dead horse?"
  the man asked while felling the blows.
"I must do much more than abuse it with force,
  a teaching till every man knows...

"...that Jesus is not an idea to be thought,
  nor is He an idol constructed
on paper, in stone, no, nor anything bought.
  Of this they are being instructed.

"I must do much more than beat this dead horse.
  I must hack it up and then burn it.
Else these silly people shall set up the corpse
  in worship, to study and learn it."

I bid him farewell, that poor preacher of God,
  while traveling on to Bologna.
A horse would be faster than walking this sod.
  Perhaps I shall buy me a pony.

by Michael Rew (c) 1998 All Rights Reserved for His Glory!
Otherwise, email me if you want to use it.

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