The cripplegate friar

In the abbey where they give me
some sanctuary
they’re drinking wine while
I’m supping cold tea,
matins in Latin
and I’m sat in a cell,
I say
what the hell?
and they censure me,

I’m going as
mad and
holier than Joe  who’s
a missionary
and I’m thinking of joining a

Pity me
poor me
is this my destiny?

and now I’m doing some praying
getting my day in before someone
starts saying
what’s he doing here?

If only one of you
could teach me to
write a speech, he
or she or whoever it be
could do me the honour
on a
sheet of white paper.

No reason for this line
I thought that it might rhyme
and it did
except for the last bit.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.