Saint Upid and the Scrolls of Saint Jeff

By candle’s weep and parchment’s sigh,
Saint Upid wakes beneath the sky.
He reads the scrolls of Saintly Jeff,
And curses softly, short of breath.

“Oh woe to me, the world’s untrue!
They plot my fall, the sinner’s crew!
Those scrolls—oh Jeff, you drunken scribe—
Record what saints should ne’er describe!”

His friend long gone to shadowed rest,
Yet left his words, both jest and jest.
And fair Blondy, keeper sly,
Locks the chest and guards the lie.

Hide the scrolls, seal the chest!
Saintly hands must not confess!
Lock the words and keep them blind,
Lest the mob lose heart and mind!

“To Magic Mike, my holy knight,
Who leads the council, pure and right—
You must not let them meet, I pray,
Or light shall burn my sins away!”

“My lord, I try, I swear, I fight!
But women’s tongues are fierce tonight!
They call the meeting, bold and cruel,
They wield the law as holy tool!”

The bells ring thrice, the council wakes,
The holy hall of conscience shakes.
And through the smoke, the papers gleam,
The saint’s undoing, like a dream.

Hide the scrolls, seal the chest!
Saintly names deserve their rest!
When truth is loud and faith is small,
Let silence be the holiest call!

And Upid weeps till dawn’s first ray,
His halo tarnished into gray.
He signs his name with trembling hand—
A saint undone by his own brand.