HAVE A NICE DAY, ST. PATRICK!
St. Patrick was a friar-man,
A much admired man
He instituted Christian wakes
And rooted out the hissing snakes.
One day, St. Patrick expired and
His salvation was acquired and
He joined the heavenly choir and
On the emerald isle of Ireland
In the 20th century,
Ulster allied with a British prince,
And there's been a lot of Ire ever since.
ISN'T IT TIME FOR SOME MUSIC, POPE GREG?
After Gregory came to be Pope
(As announced by a puff of white smoke),
He always would cope
With his problems by telling a joke.
This was fun for the masses
(And fun for the people --
Those lower and still lower classes
Who were building St. Peter's cathedral).
"How many monks," he would ask,
"Does it take to light votive candles?,"
Then after the punchline, His Worship would bask
In the laughter and scoff at the scandals.
But in later years,
When his girth had increased round the middle,
Pope Gregory shifted his gears
From the joke to Gregorian riddle:
"Now if 'oct' in the Vulgate means eight,
Tell me, why does October come late,
The tenth month of most every year?
I cannot for now volunteer
The right answer (which might just involve the occult),
But... there's a Gregorian calendar you could consult.
After each summer came fall
And with it his favorite riddle of all:
"Which red bird flies south next season
And warbles the prettiest tunes without reason?"
He'd say: "The question is tougher than barnacles,
And if you would ask me to answer it... I really can't.
But I will go ask all my cardinals
To sing a Gregorian chant."