Sister Andrew John’s Weblog 2

She slipped in just as someone else was leaving.
She knew they wouldn’t let her use the key,
and looked around with pleasure at a room
so clean and fancy – a delight to see.

A basket of dried flowers on the tank
gave off the fragrance of a summer’s day.
She held them to her face, breathed in, and saw
a childhood’s field, a carefree girl at play.

Taking no time for conscience to intrude,
she scooped the petals in worn hands closed tight
and stuffed them in the pocket of her coat,
then left the room with glances left and right.

That night her park bench had a special pillow
made of her coat rolled up beneath her head.
The fragrance circled round about her dreams;
she slept upon a perfumed, silky bed.