The Calling of the Disciples
Dont look upon me Stork Christ, please!
Scatter! I among the many flee,
Down into the darkened leaves.
Pierced his side, my neighbor's squeak,
Skewered 'long the Holy Beak,
Glory to the chosen Meek!
Feel with relief my scaly coat,
Spared the path of which the Gospels wrote
Cast and gobbled down His throat.
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