Moon hides behinds
An old stone church spire
On an barren grassy hill
Shards of light
Spills onto the ground
Through the stain glass
Lighting a path
Stepple doors
A poor man knocks
Prior, I seek only
Refuge from the night
A few crumbs
For a shrunken belly
I will work for any blessings
You may bestow on me
Stairs are in need of repair
To an upper floor
He work night and through the day
Until the task was complete
As he came
He disappeared
Down the path
Sunday
When the stone chapple on the hill
Filled with the worshipers
Amazement filled thier eyes
Stairs exquisitely built
No supports
No nails
Whispers blew accross the pews
The Prior, announced
His spoken name
Was Joseph
Never to be seen from again....
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