Sister Mary Elifritz

Thrice upon a time in a long-forgotten world,
Obscured by gnarled limbs and tangled vines that swirled,
Snaking ‘round pagan stones and moss-covered monoliths,
Came soldiering a Catholic nun, Sister Mary Elifritz.

Of hardy constitution and hefty, muscular build,
A meaty-armed woman, branches and briars hurled,
Scything remote country, to carve a useful path,
Came Sister Mary Elifritz, wanting cognac and a bath.

Such a stalwart nun can be a frightful sight,
Terse lips pressed in purpose, a mass of black and white,
Proudly puritan by nature and stoical in habit,
Came Sister Mary Elifritz, looking rather rabid.

‘Twas her fiery spirit and a passion for the mission,
A general bossy character (no priest got her submission),
A call from God was heard, to convert the heathen natives,
Came Sister Mary Elifritz to shrive, baptize, and live!

In the misty, steel-gray mountains, nestled tightly in a cave,
Tribesmen snored; mothers stirred; little children played.
Unsuspecting innocents, embraced in earth’s cocoon,
Happily oblivious Sister Mary Elifritz arrived at noon.

Missionary history records danger, disease, and death,
But usually for the native, indigenous culture so bereft,
Of civility and structure and Christian consideration,
Comes Sister Mary Elifritz aimed at tribal purification.

Visions of wicker cages, boiling cauldrons on her mind,
Exotic agonies, tribal tortures - none did she expect to find.
But if it came and if she went, a destiny she would not resent,
So intent was Sister Mary Elifritz the pagans would repent.

Unfinished
Chancy