As a carton of Neapolitan ice cream,
I like my Strawberry over here,
My Chocolate over there,
And the Vanilla in the middle
So when our Very Episcopal Reverend told the parable
Of the woman whom the Buddha tasked to return
With THE mustard seed,
From a home never knowing grief,
Ending with how she lived a long life helping the poor,
I melted,
I puddled
How can this Buddhist Bhikkuni become a St. Theresa?
Well, didn’t she?
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