My Prince Is Gone Poem by Josette Lager

As long as I can remember
we had Italion popes, the
papal states the medici,
the Holy See and the great
white hope.

Our pope was polish imagine
that, he wanted us to be a part
of it all, this great communicator,
and through kindness diplomacy
and love he eventually won our trust.

Eastern block countries a hard nut
to crack over this your white grave,
mother is not coming back.

I remember his eyes I loved the
way they looked the expressions
that danced across his face a kind
of moodiness sort of like like Brando.

How can we go back now to the
way we were, we fell in love with
him we got use to him we don't
want to replace him, our polish
pope our prince.

Josette Marie Louise Lager
Copyright@2005



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