by James Douglas Doorsman

Created on: March 21, 2010   Last Updated: October 06, 2011

In the cold intense night air the wind whipping his chapped face.

Where once a bold man stood, now a vagrant huddles in disgrace.

Wake up please,he cries, Awaken! Is there no one awake to hear?

Feverishly pounding on unanswered door. The church is on fire, I fear!

He saw the two men running, in their hands they held a flaming torch.

The vagabond is now sleeping on the glider of the neighbor’s porch.

In his filthy calloused hands he clenches a battered  bag.

The magnificent clothes inside are now nothing but tattered rags.

The inferno hot as hell’s fire it's flames warm him as he looks on.

When he awakens to the house of worship almost gone.

The walls crumbled onto piles of charcoal which once were wood

Into the clear blue morning sky like a miracle it boldly stood.

One enormous stained glass window of the Virgin Mother proudly holding her Son

With not even a scratch, God had surrendered his church to warm just one!

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