“Kill them all – the Lord will know his own.”
Now there’s an brutal, pithy epitaph
That any poet would be proud to hone
To horribly describes the aftermath
Of the one and loving Church when rampant,
Laying siege to the souls of heretics –
This is the cost of faith triumphant,
Policy and zeal allowed to mix.
We like to tell ourselves those days have gone,
But only thanks to disbelief and village schools –
The moral, true from Mecca, Rome and Carcasonne
Is to never trust a priest to write the rules.
For the fatal fallibility of pope and prayer
Will delegate to God the need to even care.