Pope calling Dad


When I told my Dad I wanted to be a pope he smiled and put his arm around me.

I was 6 but looked much younger.

As the years passed, my calling to be pope concerned my Dad.

It concerned my Dad like mad.

When I was 8 I went with friends to a Pope party.

When I was 28 I realised it was just a birthday party for my friend.

Being 8 meant I saw the Pope in every one.

The Pope was real, but for a moment after the world of sport.

My Dad’s concern gave way to love and care.

Soon Pope pictures adorned the living room.

And Mum would make me Pope like clothes.

I didn’t become a Pope, not officially.

Better than that Dad said I looked like a proper Pope.

Then he’d laugh and then he’d cry and paw at my robes.

Oh you little Pope he’d say.

And I would take his hand and say yes Dad, I’m your little Pope.


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