Pope Benedikt, he flew first class <br />prepared his Sydney Morning Mass. <br />The plane went high, passed Planet Mars <br />that's where the Pope gave out cigars. <br />He lit his Cuban with his Bic <br />and told the Captain 'heels must click'. <br /> <br />In Rome the Pope eats Sauerkraut <br />it makes his bones and structures stout, <br />he keeps, next to his bed a kitten <br />because with pussycats he's smitten. <br />Describing her, as coarse of hair <br />and agile fingers, no compare. <br />Her tongue, sandpaper like a cow <br />she knows and executes the how. <br />He misses her, she had to stay <br />while Master Pope did go away. <br /> <br />Down Under though (no, not Valhalla) , <br />they gave him Cecil, the Koala. <br />He sat, just like the pussycat <br />not on a special koala mat <br />but on his Holiness's crotch <br />while he partook of potent Scotch. <br /> <br />The press was hushed this morning though, <br />a ban on information flow, <br />it seems that Bendikt had stroked <br />and scratched and pulled and tugged and poked, <br />until the little bear went mad <br />the end result was pretty sad. <br /> <br />The good part is that as the Pope <br />he neither needs or uses dope, <br />nor would he have a real use <br />of certain structures, a recluse <br />he watches films and that is that <br />and dreams of his old pussycat.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pope-visits/
