Hi This is to fullfull the request of Erin. its a poem by Sharon Olds "The Pope's Penis" It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate clapper at the ceter of a bell. It moves when he moves, a ghostly fis in a halo of silver seaweed, the hair swaying in the dark and the heat -- and at nigth, while his eys sleep, it stands up in praise of God. There you go Erin