Every morning,
and now this morning,
the large Boys' Playground
spread full view before her.
From her bench
beneath a tall elm tree,
a stone's toss right
of the dark green water pump,
marking the entranceway
to the playground,
slender and dark complexioned,
quiet Sister Myra
with the radiant smile
kept her watch
as robust orphan boys
romped and played.
But this morning
dawned most unlike
every other morning.
High fluffy clouds
covered the vault of the sky
from north to south,
appearing as an immense
flock of sheep.
Immediately flashed
into my mind
the parable of the Good Shepherd:
Christ leading His sheep.
From her bench,
Sister Myra watched spellbound.
From my spot on the ground,
I looked at Sister Myra.
She looked back,
smiling radiantly,
confirming, it seemed,
my impression.