The Good Baptist

The good Baptist Was coming out of a shop in Roma, I knew it was him, Long hair and trimmed beard, The ladies swooned The Vogue wanted him on its cover, he wore an Armani suit a white silk scarf carelessly slung around his neck. Scintillating angle wings quivered in warm anticipation, will he gaze at them? No, he had loftier things in mind, he wasn’t going to get seduced by beauty yet again, hailed a taxi: “To the Vatican,” they heard he say, “I have an audience with the pope.”