Louis Armstrong died that year,
She'd been to Edinburgh
For the final time and made
The last climb up Arthur's

Seat the dud volcano; she
Made the long walk from the road,
Along the windy driveway
To the convent, and was met

By three nuns who came like kind
Shepherds looking for a stray
Lamb, who took her two bags, smiled
And talked as they slowly walked,

And entered the large oak doors,
Leaving the world behind as
They closed shut with a dull thud,
And she saw the cloister garth,

And the joy of the sight made
Her laugh softly deep within
Her pale, all-too-human, skin.