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For the love of a fluttering
girl,
or the white
smoke of the Holy See,
Cardinalis versus Cardinalis,
in all their
puffed up scarlet bluster,
vie with violent vigor until finally, with
lowered crest, one must take a knee.
For those of us loitering
in the stands,
who gets the
girl or their choice of vicar
is not worth the price of admission, true;
it is all the red flying upward together, wings
spread wide, flapping madly, but in concert,
talons kicking and clawing, more at a dance,
yellow beaks alternating strikes, but a la bise,
both bodies turning together round and round.
No less a mid-air fight,
but much more
a beautiful sight.
In both aviary romance and
choosing a new pope,
brokering a
deal is not in the cards,
from the beginning it's no détente. |
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