Standing tall,
And standing old.
They come in to worship,
And save their souls.
I welcome them,
As if they are my own.
For they are my Father's,
Whom he chose to loan.
I dream of the stories
I hear everyday.
Of angels, and saints,
The devil, and how not to stray.
The body and the blood,
Nails and thorns cut into him.
He sacrificed himself
To free us from sins.
I wipe their tears
When I see them cry,
I comfort them
When they ask me "Why?".
They come to me
When they feel alone.
I stay with them,
For I am their home.

-Kitty (c)
November 21st, 2006