Lord, shelter me with your words so full.
Mountain tops hail you with their ambers and shale.
Crying in the fires is a child who fell in while playing with the fetes who guided him into your railways so bold and craft.
Singing and reviving all sacrement in his heart, he relishes in hominy
as the pale moonlight glides above his head.
He takes his crown of laurel, and tosses it into the flames to reserve
stature for entering you Holy Kingdom.
(c) Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016