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[Line one is an old schoolboy version of the first
Line of ‘While Shepherds’. I wrote the rest of verse
one based upon it, but was then astounded to
discover ‘my verse one’ word for word identical
online. As such, I must claim this poem as a 
collaberation.]

While shepherds washed their socks by night
And hung them on the line
The Angel of the Lord came down 
And said those socks are mine

Fear not he said though they be red
You washed them not with whites
Glad tidings of great joy I bring
They weren’t in with my tights

If you see David down this way
He’s bound to say this line
I’ll separate the colours, Lord
And things will turn out fine

O laundry maid did you not read
The instructions displayed
I must complain, look at this stain
Don’t think that you’ll be paid

My laundry sack produced forthwith
A purple, once-white thong
I also think that thong has shrunk
Can’t get the damned thing on

O God my thong it sure is high
How it hurt my cod-piece
Good grief I can’t wear it again
It slips right up my crease

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