L'ultimo Papa

The first step

A white dove flew off and perched in front of the pointed gun

Slowly the pressure on the trigger eased and his hand stroked his head

It was the most warlike people

Without peace and without respite

Once elected, now rejected

From persecuted to persecutor

The engines of the bombers rumbled on track

The death machines ready for takeoff

But a white airplane landed on their track

It stopped in the middle and do not let them go

The order was to remove it and start again

The load of death could not wait

But a little man dressed in white got out

He walked alone into the engines roaring and trembling

One by one the warriors came down from their death machines

They took off their helmets and shields, and returned to be men

They recognized and embraced

A white dove flew off and perched in front of the pointed gun

Slowly the pressure on the trigger eased and his hand stroked his head

The dove offered his candor; but the warrior stopped his hand, he came back a man