Somewhere, Perhaps

Somewhere, perhaps, there’s a holy river
That isn't polluted,
And a holy man,
Who isn't polluted;
An altar where the greedy do not go,
With the statue of a saint
Who has not been tarnished,
Not even after meticulous biography,
The publication of his personal diaries,
And extensive interviews with his wife and children.
Somewhere, there’s a book,
Whose language is elegant,
Whose tales are all edifying,
Whose morals are crystal clear,
And always applicable.
Somewhere, there’s a summit,
And those who stand upon it
Can think only wholesome thoughts,
And conceive only practical plans.
Somewhere, there’s a community
Where none of the children are awkward,
And none of the uncles are creepy,
Where dogs are always welcome.
Naturally,
This place is hidden,
Nestled in a cozy niche,
And does not advertise,
Which is just as well,
Because that cozy niche
Is located
Between
Your ears.