My kind of guy….
Duncan the Drunken Angel
was in line to have his wings clipped.
By the tight-lipped Senior Cherub,
who had charge of Bondi Beach.
For the sodden Surfing Seraph,
being well known to the Sheriff,
had been found a tad miraculous;
face down flat on Saviour’s Reach.
He’d helped spread the Christmas message
in the bad old days of Herod.
Sung in praise the King of Heaven,
something they no longer teach.
But he couldn’t do celestial,
made terrestrial instead.
He was grounded by St Peter
for a controversial speech.
Told that he’d no longer hover,
didn’t bother with such things.
Wings were purely ceremonial,
just a nuisance on the beach.
Now he spends his days with surf bums.
drinking dark rums, lime and coke.
It’s not wholly, holy spirit.
so he’s not compelled to preach