Sea Change

I saw a Priest in beetle black Come to our golden beach, And I was taken sore aback Lest he should choose to preach And chide me for my only wear, A "Gee" string and a brassière. And then I saw him shyly doff And fold his grim soutane, And one by one his clothes take off, Until like any man He stood in bathing trunks, a sight To thrill a maiden with delight. For he was framed and fashioned like Apollo Belvedere; I felt my heart like cymbal strike Beneath my brassière. And then the flounce of foam he broke, And disappeared with flashing stroke. We met. 'Twas in the billows roll. Oh how he sang with joy; But not a hymn, - a merry troll With gusto of a boy. I looked, and lo! the priest was gone, And in his place a laughing faun. . . . Today confession I have made. The Father's face was stern, And I was glad that in the shade Mine he could not discern . . . He gave me grace - but oh the bliss, The salty passion of his kiss!