I know it's not brilliant poetry but I think it meets the point.
Feel free to recycle it wherever you think useful.
We were in the Duck and Feathers,
if I remember aright, some
years before the Mitre, and some
were virgins still. I bought a round,
not lilies mind, and set it down
‘No worries,’ I said, ‘just be true
to yourself,’ trite, I know, but it
means more between the sheets, ‘for what
pleases you will surely pleasure
him.’ (Though I’m no longer convinced
that will work the other way around.)
‘Shut up.’ you said, ‘No-one asked you.’
I did; now look where we’ve got to.
No-one asked me for my views now.
But I reckon, Archbishop, that
the first hundred ’n fifty years
of any relationship is
bound to have its troughs and squalls and
some things said should not be said
and may surely be best forgot.
And you know it’s unwise, in the
midst of a domestic, for one
to decide that the thing to do
is to re-write the marriage vows:
for love hurries out the window
when orders are issued in bed.
And deep in the Rose and Compass
where they worry about such things
I guess they’re a wee bit concerned
at the vision they can see: an
Archbishop dons a papal crown
while Primates flock to Wippells to
sit for their cardinal’s gown, and
lawyers most costly consulting
with mercurial bureaucrats,
and Ancient and Modern revised
so the choir sing a single tune:
and family turns a business
when all must dance to a contract.
So please Archbishop, dear Archbishop,
for the sake of some angry words or a
few foolish acts and a little blackmail,
please don’t go signing this new covenant
or throw away your well-worn wedding ring.