The Nuns that Live Upstairs

The freestyle thoughts thread jogged my memory and I remembered a poem I wrote at 4 am one morning in our old Apt. in Orlando. Three nuns lived in the apartment above us and to date they were some of the noisiest neighbors I have ever had. I often worked late, and would be exhausted, but these ladies were up and at it 4 am sharp every morning... there was just no sleeping through it. Sometimes, you just have to laugh or you will cry.


The Nuns that Live Upstairs

Every morning I hear them. Their clatter could wake the dead.
Once again I hear them; the Nuns above my head.

Every night I vow to sleep as I say my good night prayers, but some how I always awaken with bits of the ceiling in my hair.

It must be from the creaking as they rock in their chairs, oh how I wish those nuns didn’t live in the apartment upstairs.

I think they might be praying but, I really am not sure.
Do you really have to be so loud when you knock on Jesus’ door?

Please go back to bed I pray you are keeping me awake,
And if I don’t get some sleep; I soon might meet my wake.

They get up so early, I think God is still asleep.
Maybe they are his alarm clock; his noisy little sheep.