A day when you dont smile,
Is a day when a sickly feather,
torn and withered,
falls from the sky.


Somewhere a saint feels the winter chill,
of a lightened load.


I spend these days scouraging,
collecting the fallen pieces,
praying with them to show,
that someone cares.


Someone knows,
and weeps with them


I pray only that they keep you,
under their wings in warmth
away from the world of man,
even though your woe takes away their standing


So smile, love
The saints themselves are on their knees for you