Poetry

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One day many years in the past
A young monk arrived at a monastery.
To assist other monks with the canon and laws
By making hand written copies

But he notices very quickly
That all of us are copying from copies,
And not from the original texts
So he goes to the Abbott with a query

He tells the Abbott of his concern
That any error in the first copy
No matter how small it may be
Would be duplicated in each subsequent copy

The abbot says to the boy
"We have been doing it for centuries
Copying from the copies
But you have a good point, sonny."

The abbot goes down to the dark caves
To the archives beneath the monastery
where the original manuscripts are held
Kept locked in a vault for safety

Hours go by and nobody sees the abbot
he misses his meals and prayers
The young monk gets worried
And goes to look for him downstairs

He finds him banging his head on a wall
Wailing, "We missed the “R”
His forehead is bloody and bruised
And the boy thinks that will lave a scar

The young monk asks the abbot,
"What's wrong?" why do you create
Crying the Abbott replies,
"The word was Celebrate!!!”

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