Tyrolean Nuns

Poem By Herbert Nehrlich

On the evening of his death he was so happy, it is true
that not one of them suspected or presumed
a malfunction or an illness, even doctors had no clue
that the old father of the clan was simply doomed.

He was stout and overbearing, with a voice like distant thunder
and he stalked around the acreage like a king.
What a let-down to an icon who is buried six foot under,
I remember that the news came like a sting.

Fourteen sons he left to battle over tantallising riches,
there was only one true method they would choose.
All the screeching and the warnings from their individual bitches
who would sit at home and cry the bloody blues,

would not matter one iota, heads would come off very soon
'til the one true heir was left to get the gold,
and at sundown they would battle in the light of the full moon,
and the servants count the heads as off they rolled.

And that night they counted slowly, thirteen heads fell into mud
and the youngest of the brothers wiped his sword.
There was silence in the courtyard and the grounds were drenched with blood
and the warrior was grinning looking bored.

Then the moon left to recover his own sanity again,
the survivor was surrounded by fourteen,
they all promised to obey and to forget their previous men
but the gods that day were simply very mean.

Thus an army of Etruscans had surrounded them at once
and their arrows were the very deadly kind.
They killed all of them, no mercy yet two visitors with guns
had been staying at the castle and behind

an old juniper they hid, shaking wildly like dead leaves
though the cards were clearly stacked to help them out.
And they stayed within the shadows, very quiet just like thieves,
when the voice of the head soldier yelled 'Come Out '.

So they stepped into the open, dressed in white and raven black,
'twas their habit as 'Tyrolean Sister Nuns',
wisely choosing to look humble and avoiding an attack,
they had hidden in their garments their big guns.

Now the army had dismounted, all then joined the nuns in praising
God, who was the only one, knew of the treasure,
they decided then that this had been an utterly amazing,
unexpected but successful and rare pleasure.

And they gave the run-down castle and all land to the believers
who did promise that they'd build a monastery.
If you ever ask yourself about Tyrolean achievers,
how they got so rich and stayed so very merry.

Then you know now how those things in the beginning,
can look dicey, also scary and remote.
Rest assured though that there are a dozen nuns (and all are grinning)
in that castle, all surrounded by a moat.

Comments about Tyrolean Nuns

I like these blood and guts poems especially when you have a couple of the old black and whites nuns that is a great lesson in poetry for the younger brigade i hope this poem is not to complicated for them they might have to read it a couple of times so it can sink in you know the average age on this site is 12 to 18 and most of them are in the forum Liam


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