Everyone in Tradville ~ they all loved the Mass,
but the papal apartment ~ were not of that class.
For there lives Grinch Francis ~ and some call him Pope,
his actions, not papal ~ he crushes all hope.
That man hates all Latin ~ in Mass and Tradition,
as the Remnant, the faithful ~ oppose his position.
The thought of their chanting ~ gave him such a fright,
he paced 'round his room ~ could not sleep all the night.
What Francis had feared ~ was this most of all,
the faith of 'The Council' ~ could possibly fall.
He read the statistics ~ with a sick sour frown,
he saw Mass attendance ~ kept plummeting down.
The exceptions were churches ~ the Trads in the world,
were filling the pews ~ those seeking the 'pearl'.
They pray there in silence ~ astutley aware,
their Canon is quiet ~ they're all deep in prayer.
He growled, and he sneered ~ waving both arms about.
'I must find some way ~ to throw that Mass out.'
He knew in the future ~ those nice Traddy mothers,
would bring up Traditional ~ priests, nuns, and brothers.
He thought how they mock ~ both him and his friends,
he wants to attack them ~ and all they defend.
He thought how the Trads ~ want to praise 'Christ the King'.
this made him determined ~ to stop this whole thing.
He thought they'd do something ~ he liked least of all,
every Trad down in Tradville ~ the big and the small.
Would seek to convert those ~ separated by schism,
resorting to heinous ~ pros-el-y-tism.
'For fifty years plus ~ I've put up with it now.
I must stop this Mass ~ from existing somehow.''
Then he got an idea ~ of such evil intent,
to which all the Bishops ~ will give their consent.
'I know what to do' ~ as he laughed with a grin,
then he ordered his aide ~ to fetch him his pen.
Then he gleefully said ~ 'What a great Papal trick',
with his words he would one up ~ ol' Pope Paul the sixth.
'All I need is a pretext' ~ as thoughts did abound,
in his wheel-house of thoughts ~ which one would gain ground?
He called on his confreres ~ to ask their advise,
but one had objected ~ 'those Trads are so nice.'
He accused 'they are rigid ~ divisive you see,
the pretext we'll use ~ we will call unity'.
Then Francis, he snorted ~ and let loose this pen,
'Tra-diti-onis Cu-stodes' ~ will accomplish my end.
He sent out his words ~ they were sent far and wide
to 'guard our tradition' ~ he declared with a cry.
It's a means to an end ~ and an end that is mean,
that was the Grinch style ~ to disturb the serene.
He dressed up as Santa ~ to spy on his plan,
to see if the Trad folk ~ would obey just a man.
For Christians should know ~ to obey God, not men,
for obedience to evil ~ will put you in sin.
He went though the Church door ~ he entered the nave,
his years of abuse ~ had left him depraved.
He looked 'round and saw ~ all the stautes in line,
his grin was his smile ~ these must be maligned.
He slithered and slunk ~ having lost all his manners,
and replaced all the statues ~ with modern felt banners.
He went to the altar~ looked thence with a frown,
then he pushed and he pulled ~ and he turned it around.
He unplugged their organ ~ moved both fast and nimble,
he left them guitars ~ some drums and a cymbal.
The Grinch stole their vessels ~ and started to whistle,
he even removed ~ their '62 missal.
He started to leave ~ but then heard a sound,
he knew not from where ~ and then turned around.
He turned round about ~ and he saw a small Trad,
little Mary Louise ~ who was dressed all in plaid.
This Grinch had been caught ~ much to his consternation,
as the Trad girl was here ~ for late meditation.
She stared at that man ~ and said, 'Francis, why,'
'why are you taking ~ our Mass away, why?"
But Grinch, you may know ~ he is smart and is slick,
he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick.
'Your Mass is so rigid, ~ so old, what a pity.
'l want you to pray ~ the one from committee'.
He noticed the creche ~ and it caused him much trauma.
then took out our Our Lady ~ and left Pach-a-mama.
He walked to the door ~ his eyes, they had widened,
then hung up a picture ~ of him and Joe Biden.
The Grinch we should pray for ~ his end will be soon,
his judgement is coming ~ he won't be immune.
His efforts are useless ~ though plundering souls,
the devil still tempts him ~ wherever he goes.
The Mass of the saints ~ will live longer than him,
it will last forever ~ 'til Judgement begins.
Christ promised He's with us ~ 'til time it shall end,
at Mass He comes to us ~ He will always descend.
His Mother is with us ~ she's our Advocate,
with her and our Jesus ~ we'll surely make it.
The Mass and our faith ~ the treasure we hold,
the victory cometh ~ it has been foretold.
© A.Brizek 12/24/2024