The Old Drummer's Incessant Drumming
His handle's Nick, Old Nick. Unwary gents
And ladies reap the tares he sows and eat
Their deadly grain. They pay their hard-earned pence
For pleasures false and hopes profane. 'Tis sweet.
For each seductive ware he substitutes
A foul delusion hid up perfumed sleeves.
Nick's jolly lollipops are sticky toots
He trumpets artfully as he deceives.
He's generously proffered full-text ease,
Not context stuffy tomes provide. His hol-
Low platitudes ring true, deaf ears to please,
While soporific fairy tales enthrall.
Who dote as well on sugar-coated lies
As soothing flaccid prayers--those cupboards bare--
Let louche caresses pass for sin's demise.
Thus such as these are guests within his lair.