I
An Augustinian Sister I am
And have been so for a lengthy exam;
My vows are to the Lamb but I feel so
Empty and weak without a druggist’s dram.
II
For the moment, I write verses for girls,
Instructing them to pray with their small pearls;
I endeavour to teach the world that prayer
Is the drug that makes white lines into whorls.
III
By Grace, I do need a medic who can
Procure the capsules in full, no less than
One thousand; I need medicine to numb
Me, to cure me, to be my harmattan.
IV
At the sound of the three bells we did meet,
She suggested tea to soothe me and sweets;
I must say, I did oblige the offer
And now we are to have some luncheon meat.
V
I have been her confessor since scandal
Permeated her life like a vandal;
She tells me her sins and her transgressions
And my blessing is easy to handle.
VI
Drugs aren’t angels, no matter how lofty
They can make one when in the sky; frosty
Is the cloud on which sits the wand’ring Lord
And he likes a tea, too, when he’s naughty.