A funny thing happened on the way to Damascus (or, some doggerel attributed to that Ananias who cured St. Paul of his blindness, but I don't suppose he could really have written them, 'cause the historical-critical method would say the lymeric hadn't been invented yet...)

The thing about making theology rhyme,
whenever I give this a bit of my time,
is that I'm afeared
I'll put out my beard
'cause I can't find a rhyme for Damascus.

And others more Logos-ly gifted than I
did tremble, and whimper and sniffle and cry,
and fall from a horse --
I mean Paul of course --
when asked to make rhymes for Damascus.

So Old Rome and New Rome and Third Rome and more
got down on their knees on the cold marble floor
and prayed to our Lord,
"Avert ye the sword!
'Cause we can't make a rhyme for Damascus!"

And finally Paul got the courage to ask us,
and once it came out he got bolder to task us.
With a mighty oration,
Divine inspiration
said, "There's only one rhyme for Damascus..."