The poor ascetic Monk, I’m told,
Subsists on crusts of graying mould.
No wonder Monks
Spend time in funks.
How can some spread, though, having shunned
Their food, into a lush rotund?
One can’t make liars
Out of Friars!
This alibi to me appeals:
I think they PEACE between their meals.
by Ray Romine Thursday, March 10, 1949
