I saw a nun across the street one day
Picking flowers from a garden bed
and strewing them about, hair astray.
When she looked at me with eyes of red
the “sister” stood and grinned wickedly,
In that moment I thought for sure I was dead.
She began to pursue me quickly
Running, even in her habit
Reaching, as if to take me downwardly
a prize for the devil, to live an eternity in Satan’s pit
but luck, or divine intervention
caused her to fall, chomping at the bit
I ran without stopping, glowing with elation
at escaping a fate worse than a knuckle rap
I evaded her without hesitation
conscious that I could still fall into a trap
For I knew that a dirty nun
was five times more nasty than a clean one
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