Behind bejeweled fingers
they grinned， they tittered，
to hear their friend——his cup
filled to spilling——propose
his toast to progress； then
declare the Pope， "A dupe，
a dullard， a simpleton.
A worm. A brass-brained dolt.
A sheep. A braying ass
spooked by its own shadow."
Clearly he feared no man
now. No——not even
pious Pope Urban
who strangled songbirds
in the Vatican garden
when they disturbed him.