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.