I'm at a loss as to what to say This poo is underwhelming And hasn't inspired a way To wax on and take the day. I had high hopes When sitting next to Hammond Of merrily penning tropes Of the pooping of the Pope's. For I was struck By the imaginings of a small boy With nothing but luck Falling into the Pope's muck. Now before you go there I'm not alluding to wrongdoings Of holy men and where Their genitalia lairs I'm simply saying That I have nothing very promising Or very swaying As to be entertaining. And so I thought Of the pooping Pope Of kids in sewers wrought By the church's great hope Of the holy stench of the man on high.