Father Fright

Father FrightWe 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.


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