The Shorter Catechism

 I burned my fingers on the stove
 And wept with bitterness;
But poor old Auntie Maggie strove
 To comfort my distress.
Said she: 'Think, lassie, how you'll burn
 Like any wicked besom
In fires of hell if you don't learn
 Your Shorter Catechism.'

A man's chief end is it began,
 (No mention of a woman's),
To glorify--I think it ran,
 The God who made poor humans.
And as I learned, I thought: if this--
 (My distaste growing stronger),
The Shorter Catechism is,
 Lord save us from the longer.

The years have passed and I begin
 (Although I'm far from clever),
To doubt if when we die in sin
 Our bodies grill forever.
Now I've more surface space to burn,
 Since I am tall and lissom,
I think it's hell enough to learn
 The Shorter Catechism.

Form: Ballad

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