The Living Prepuce

That sacred relic, by the way, was hid

And either kept in camphor or else iced.

It grew so precious it could not be priced.

And then one day His Holiness undid

A holy box and raised a holy lid -

Behold – the foreskin of our saviour Christ,

Shrimplike in shape, most elegantly sliced,

At last to profane eyes exhibited.

In eighty other Christian lands they show

This self-same prize for reverent eyes to hail.

You look incredulous, my friend. But know

That faith, though buffeted, must never fail.

The explanation's this: God let it grow

After the clipping, like a fingernail.