(Idea from a short story called ‘My Vocation’by Mary Lavin 1912 - 1996)
I was only 13 when I first got the call - with a vision as clear as the one of Paul
That my future career if I had one at all - would be spent in a Convent location
For I thought nuns were gorgeous completely serene - not a single bad tooth in a nun I had seen
When I gave them a whiff I could tell they were clean - I was keen on a nunly vocation
Now it’s often you find if you’re some-way inclined - that the stars in the sky will for you be aligned
For the fates that await are remarkably kind - to a person whatever their station
So I felt my heart dance when I happened to glance - at an advert for nuns in the paper by chance
It invited young girls that were short of romance - to apply for a two-year probation
It said, ‘Postulantants wanted - no dowry required’ - so I wrote straight away as the advert desired
And I got so exited I felt I was wired - when the Reverend Mother relied
“Oh it’s Glory to God” I heard mother shout out - though to tell you the truth she was not that devout
Then she told all the neighbours - my secret was out - I’d been chosen by God for a bride
Now the letter did say that the very same day - that the Sisters of Mercy would be on their way
On a visit which left us in such disarray - that we need divine intervention
So we begged & we borrowed from half of the street - by the time we had finished the house looked a treat
And me Da in his suit look uncommonly neat - like he’d dressed for the final ascension
We had borrowed a clock & some irons for the fire - and the plushest of chairs than
an arse could desire
And me Ma’s Sunday frock came from Mrs Maguire - as we waited for our visitation
On the white table cloth with the lovely lace trim - we left open a book at a poplar hymn
And we lit up some candles that made the place dim - but were proof of our deep veneration
When the Sisters arrived we all sat down to broth - which is fine sustenation for those of the cloth
And without hesitation one started to cough - on account of the smoke & the dampness
Then they gave me a list of the clothes I would need - if I entered the Order & followed their lead
And me faith & resolve soon began to recede - for I don’t have the strength of St. Francis
Now as interviews go it was all very slow - and I wasn’t quite sure how to put on a show
Did I smile? Did I frown? Did I keep my head low? - did I mention I liked ‘Sound of Music’?
Now I like an idea when it stays and idea - but when things get too real it can fill me with fear
The romance of my dream I could feel disappear - but I still like the film ‘Sound of Music’
Mister Murphy arrived in his herringbone cap - and he put both the nuns in his pony & trap
And it all went quite smooth til the horse took a slap - and it flew down the street as it bolted
Both the Sisters departed for waters uncharted - and I take all the blame for the way they were were carted
And though I admit I was not brokenhearted - my belief in believe it was jolted
Well the nuns held on tight with a fearsome grip - as old Murphy half-tight took recourse to the whip
You could hear him blaspheming and both nuns did slip - to the floor of frantic conveyance
Oh I wish I could tell you that God took a hand - or say to you now it was something he planned
But that would be a lie and all liars are damned - so I’ll keep all my thought in abeyance
At the end of the street what a hullabaloo - a sharp turn to the right & the horse lost a shoe
And the air round old Murphy turned ten shades of blue - as the pony & trap did a wheelie
It was just like Ben Hur that you’ve seen on the screen - for the highway to Hell is not often foreseen
The poor nuns both had faces a spring shade of green - but were fluent in Murphy Swahili
From the Reverend Mother I heard not a word - of the visiting nuns who were shaken & stirred
But when I told my brother of what had occurred - he inferred it was worth the relating
And he said the next time that those Sisters were sent - to a foolish young girl with a pious intent
Sure they’d rather endure privations of Lent - than a Postulant lady-in-waiting
Well now that was the end of my life as a nun - you could say that it ended before it begun
And my habit was never to gleam in the sun - as I lived in devout contemplation
And our house from that day it was never the same - for there’s half it went back to the place it had came
But there’s still in my heart a small flickering flame - that reminds me of lost adoration
I’m inclined to the cross and I keep every feast - and the sound of a hymn makes me rise like the yeast
When I’m down in the gym I workout to the East - for they say that’s the saintly location
Now I write for a living and stories I tell - about taking & giving & Heaven & Hell
But when I pass a convent and I hear a bell - I remember a young girl’s vocation
Ending:
A job is a job is a job is a job
A job is an occupation
But call me a snob - to stand out from the mob
You can't beat a good vocation
