When not hearing confessions in his booth,
Our Father Brown is proving quite the sleuth,
A consternation to the constable,
Especially when he proves the cop a fool
By being as canny as the famed Dame Christie
In ferreting the clues to every mystery.
As meddling as the friar that Chaucer drew,
Though to good ends, this prelate finds what’s true,
For which, at best, he earns a grudging thanks
From those in the constabulary ranks,
Yet wins from those involved their gratitude,
Amazed to find their Father Brown so shrewd.
The pastor, in his turn, humbly defers:
“All glory due's our Heavenly Father’s.”