Steven, Peter and Michael, were in the Worship Group        And every Sunday morning, off to church they’d troop        Singing songs with gusto, praises to The Lord                A choir of hairless angels hid something untoward.

The sun, it shone so brightly, upon their balding domes        The dazzling rays diverted into the vicars zone                Played havoc with the OHP, the screen you couldn’t see        The congregation had to sing some Mission Praisery.

The PCC were so alarmed, they voted, for a change              To find a quick solution to the problems of this mange        Wigs were deemed expensive, a faculty they’d need            So talcum powder was proposed, to dull the shiny three.

So now upon a Sunday, the OHP is clear            And all the people at the back, no longer have to peer                        The follicly challenged trio, forgiven of their sin            Are dusted down with loads of talc and everybody wins.


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