Balancing on the head of a pin
They twirl, they whirl, they frolic, they bow
Twenty-nine angels without any sin. 

The reverent clergy made such a row
To solve this pious polemic
More weighty than witches and heretics foul.

More sense and import than problems endemic:
How many angels could dance without falling?
The query liturgically famed and totemic. 

The faithful rose up to answer the calling
The saintly enigma aroused such a ruckus
(Truth is that the common folk feared a mean mauling.)

"Away to the dungeon they´d just as soon truck us.
Embrace this dilemma no matter how dumb.
This is the Dark Ages. They´d just as soon you-know-what-us."

The doubt was debated with chaste bumbledom
Believing Aquinas had poised the good question
But was Martin Scriblerus who penned this sweet thrum.

And Martin was many amid the profession
Enlightment satirists all signed  his name
Metaphysical fine points in burlesque expression.

While Tom was sincere in his Summa´s great claim
To ponder God´s secrets with flair and pure reason
His treatises are tortured, his opus misnamed.   

The angels are giggling, they´ve had a fine season
They dance without jostling where ever they wish
On earth, on a pin, on points geodesian
They think we´re all pinheads with this silly gibberish.

  © 2006 Patricia Jane St. John Danko