A puir wee kirk moose, a' forlorn,
Its furry coat fair sairly worn,
Sank doon upon its bony knees,
And prayed for jist a wee bit cheese.
The tears ran doon its wee thin cheeks,
But nane could hear the saddest squeaks,
That drifted on the cauld nicht air,
Till whiles it couldnae pray nae mair.
Syne daylicht cam, the kirk bells rang,
The doors swung open wi' a bang,
Communion Day had come an' by
Wi' wine an' plates of bread piled high.
The wee moose lay as still as daith
And watched it a' wi' baited braith,
Then thocht - "If I keep awfy quiet
A bit might just fa' aff a plate."
And so it gazed as roond they went,
Then just as tho' 'twas heaven sent,
Whit landed richt upon its heid,
But two lumps of communion breid!
The staff o' life lay on the flair,
The bounteous answer tae his prayer,
Just as he thocht "It looks fell dry",
A body couped some wine forbye.
Wee moosie stoated up the aisle,
Wearing sic a boozy smile,
The folk stopped singin' fair aghast
Tae see a drunken moose walk past.
The organist fell aff his chair,
The meenister could only stare,
Tae see this drunken, sinful moose,
Cavortin' in His sacred hoose.
At last it staggered up the nave,
Then turned and gave a happy wave,
"I ken noo when it's time tae pray,
I'll dae it on Communion Day."
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