I.P. The Astonishing Saint

I.P. The Astonishing Saint (31st July, 2010)

Did you ever chance to see her? Saint Christina?
She was a hermit with a permit from God
To be quite strange; in the cottage by the lake
She laid her head, isolated and deranged.

One could never go to see her (Saint Christina)
Without a bunch of freesias to ice-break
(To hide the smell of humanness). I must confess,
She was the epitome of spotless Saintliness.

She believed your eternal soul to be at risk
(Despite the advice of many psychiatrists)
If you refused to take a bath, oh, don’t laugh:
The human body odour is a hideous mask.

It’s a crying shame, for I heard it said today
That the lady Saint Christina had passed away;
They carried her body to the Church, on display,
So the world could be astonished on the way,

But, as they approached the door, they say the coffin
Lurched, and what is more, the late, great Saint Christina
Rose, undead, her arms held clear above her head, and
Clasped the rafters in her rigor mortis grasp.

And although the vicar laid admonishments
As the mourners watched, silent in astonishment,
She refused to come down ‘til, you won’t believe this,
The congregation had been home to have a bath.