(because I'm up to Luke 3)
Did gyrate and shimmer in my sight;
all measly was its boring poem,
And the tone wrong outright.
"Beware the Begats, by God!
The names will bore, the clause not match!
A pair gave birth with holy rod
and spurious virgin snatch.
He took his gospel text in hand:
Long time to stay awake he sought --
So bored he by redundancy,
And grammar not so hot.
And, as the ancient words he lipped,
The Begat, a noun archaic,
Came whiffling from the manuscript,
And made his eyeballs ache!
One, two! Three, Four! And more and more
The gospel text got snickered at!
He skipped ahead, left it unread
and ne'er regretted that.
"And, has thou read all the Begats?
No damns or drats, and done so soon!
Jaysus to ya! Halla! Looya!'
He chortled like a loon.
`Twas boring, and the slimy tome
Did gyrate and shimmer in my sight;
Atrocious were its boring poems,
I threw the tome out right.
(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)
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