The Pope in Britain

Last night I dreamed I was the Pope
And wondered how on Earth I’d cope
with Heaven, cos it’s very far
from condom use in Africa
or buggered boys on Boston’s shore,
crusades in Languedoc, and more
But then I thought: I am the Pope,
the heir to Peter, mustn’t mope
To keep alive, that’s my mission,
bulls of worn-out superstition
If only there were more like me:
(from Hitler Youth to Holy See
is not a huge conceptual leap)
To Britain! And its hungry sheep!

© Simon M Hunter 2010


Anonymous said…
nice lyrics, hope to see more
Self-Taught said…
I'm following your blog, please do the same
Rachel Hoyt said…
What a great poem Simon! Now I know you're also rhymin. :o)

Rhyme Me a Smile
Simon M Hunter said…
Thanks Rachel, glad you liked it :)

Popular posts from this blog

Horace, Satires I.iv 22-28

Horace, Satires I.iv 12-13, 17-18

Messaging/emailing my son (13)