The Nun


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.