Just not the famous one.
The one who would have liked it
Would have tastes second to none.
He’d love the river and the mills,
The green and woody rolling hills;
He would like, I guess, the rain
Which is, these days, my morning pain.
And if Tertullian was mayor
I think he’d see, from over there
In Carthage, where he used to fare
That our roads are in disrepair.
Perhaps to fix them he’d would be
Wrapped up in obscure heresy
Of the old Montanist kind
But, oops, I think that I’ve been blind
Cause I forgot
That he was not
That Tertullian at all
Some other one I don’t recall
Since I don’t live in Carthage, I
Will end this post
And say goodbye