Father was a piece of work, that's for sure;

a very humble chap, never a caricature.

McCacky was his nickname, he had a long beard;

most confided in him, others thought he was a bit weird.

Father's sermons were a sight to behold;

you saw it coming, the grand threshold.

He stood there standing, occupying his own right;

pivoting to the left, then back to the right.

He expounded on the saints, there was no hilarity;

all their lives and miracles, spoke with such clarity.

He even looked like a saint, but who can tell;

only God knows if anyone is superbly well.

Father McCacky didn't shepherd his own flock;

he was a fill in, came all the way from Antioch.

During the coffee hour you saw the real him;

not only was he funny then, he'd counsel you at your whim.

Father was a piece of work, that's for sure;

a very humble chap, never a caricature.

He and his wife, a match made in heaven;

surely they both knew where to find the true leaven.