Near the bust stop, around the bend,
where the bus route comes to end,
Is a lane with buildings replete,
the best of the lot being Paraclete

With round Victorian window panes,
and 16th century structural frames,
It is like a manor on a London street,
This beautiful empyrean Paraclete

Coated in demure pink and white,
and shades of cream, very slight,
a structure of cement and  concrete
Its a divine abode, this Paraclete!

And named after the Holy Ghost,
this building, is home and host,
To a boy, who made my life complete,
He is my advocate, my Paraclete!  

When I sought God and asked for aid
He sent me the best he had made
the boy, from across the street
a resident of divine Paraclete!

But how could it possibly be?
For this boy was younger than me!
Why would God, send to my aid
A boy who 3 years after I, was made?

God replied "it took time to create
for you, a well suited mate,
It took a while to complete,
Your protector, guide and Paraclete"

When all courage had been lost
And my heart turned to frost
my faith had nearly come to deplete
But was revived, by the boy from Paraclete!