The Pope and the Ice

The Pope stood high with hat so white,
He blessed the crowd from left to right.
He raised his hand (so very nice),
And said out loud, “I now bless ice!”

“Oh bless the ice!” the people cried.
But what he meant—well, none could decide.
Did he mean cubes? So cold! So clear!
Or agents folks might slightly fear?

Reporters yelled, “The Pope loves ICE!”
“Enforcement work is holy, nice!”
While nuns said, “No, it’s water’s freeze!
He’s blessing drinks and snowy seas!”

Priests were puzzled, monks perplexed,
Theologians deeply vexed.
“Does ice have souls? Or legal fees?
Can cubes confess on bended knees?”

The kitchens buzzed with holy glee,
They blessed their trays religiously.
The freezers hummed, the cold air flowed,
The holy frost just softly glowed.

Then ICE (the group!) sent out a tweet:
“The Vatican thinks we’re rather neat!”
The Pope just sighed, “Oh mercy me,
That’s not the ice I meant, you see!”

“But maybe,” smiled the Pope with grace,
“A little warmth could bless this place.
If hearts can melt, and tempers cool—
Then bless all ice! That’s my one rule.”

So if you sip or serve or serve the law,
Remember what the crowd once saw:
A Pope, a pun, a crowd enticed—
Forever blessed the world with… ice.