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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required GOD’S FORGIVENESS WON’T COUNT In a rural setting in a dale, close to the river Conchobar, stands the village of Corella, right at the ending of the tar. Everybody knows each other. They often do in country towns, and most businesses are busy for huge franchises are not found. All the kids all go to state schools, and most locals tend to lurch, towards the protestant united, or pews in the Catholic church. But also there are the Godless, known to inhabit dens of sin, if one believes the Reverend, when each service does begin. The Reverend holds strong belief, and to his Deacons preached, that the weakness of the flesh, are sins that shan’t be breached. But it was hot and it was humid, parching thirst could bring you down, and on this one occasion, suffered two Deacons Smith and Brown. As they passed Corella Tavern, the lure of some thirst relief, was stronger to the Deacons, than the hold on their belief. Too bad this was a house of sin, the beer was icy cold and wet, and pleasure grew with each new sip, so died the scruples of regret. Until Deacon Smith observed, Reverend parked beside his car and he was glaring straight ahead at him ducked inside the bar. Deacon Brown sighed ‘don’t you worry. Reverend is not paramount. God knows that we’re in here, and he’s the only one we count.’ But Deacon Smith has other views, now he is in fear of his life, ‘God might forgive us for our sin, but it’s not God’s who’ll tell my wife!’
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