A pope in high places is always a rocky story (without philadelphic stairs) although this one involves a Polish lad (otherwise I’d be tempted to say it is an eyetalian thang) fond of mountaineering who found himself in high gland country (addressing the youth of Amorica) and dressed for the occasion in specially prepared sneakers (fittingly) fit up with specially purchased gold laces.
It is said he was weary (of us). There is a famous photo.
Nous (noose?) at eleven.
(Does any of this make sense to you? I’m just passing time trying to keep the lady from dying. Some say the pope intends as much.)
I’m running out of linking energy. I had thought I could get to the bottom of this. Eli eli lama sabbacthani.