When at last the Pope of three rings passes away,
What will the Trustees at last condescend to say?
O the sartorial bliss that billows and rends,
When all the wide-eyed devotees break wind!
The Pontiff has predicted his royal passing
And inspired the bhaktas with choral gassing.
The memorial will no doubt promise a grand show
Of rambling talk and talk and sobbing Jai Hoes.
Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh will intone something
On the passing of this bogus Kalchuri King.
Praise be to the god of coin for having inspired
Papal indulgences that postpone getting dead.
On the matter of the Master breaking his Silence,
The Pope has finessed the art of wretched nonsense.
We have no doubt what happens is the Master’s will,
But O God Darvish will never be a pretender’s shill!