As straight and righteous like a nun of old,
Ever ready to punish the bold,
Racing over her black habit of stone and tar,
Torn and blemished by sins and scars
Of wild youths and busy peasants,
Dirty hooves and tyres screaming,
So unmoved and stiff she seems,
Emotionless is she leading the way;
Straight to a church - eventually
And praises the lord for all the souls
That step inside it's holy walls -
A lane like many without any sensation -
On an island with promises of rain
And eternal salvation.


Sydney Krivenko 2009
All rights reserved