Father Fright

We have a new welcoming party at our house this year: Father Fright. He stands guard at the rectory as a beacon of right-living and paladin of piety. I do hope you’ll come by to meet him. If you dare. In the meantime, I’ve written a poem to honor his appearance at the Schenck household.

The boys have been rolling their eyes at my creation (the closest I’ll ever come to Dr. Frankenstein) but I think they’ve secretly been inspired by Father Fright: they’re both going as the Grim Reaper this year.

Father Fright 

Come and meet Father Fright,

One blameless in God’s sight.

He may look like bare bones

As he moans and he groans

But always fights the good fight.

 

Warm and fuzzy he’s not

With nary a soft spot

While he’s quite devout

His femur juts out

He cares not one tittle or jot.

 

His theology’s quite clear,

Though some tremble in fear:

“Repent now you loser!

God’s your accuser,

He’s not as nice as you hear.”

 

While he’s not the Grim Reaper

His grace ain’t much cheaper

The doctrine is simple:

To God you’re a pimple.

You be your brother’s keeper.

 

In the Valley of Dry Bones

He waits for all to atone

With bony hand raised

He stands there unphased

The devil he strives to dethrone.

 

His eyes blaze so bright

Each Halloween night

You may scream “egad!”

But in the end you’ll be glad

To have met Father Fright.