Their's was a choice
in season
For there is a time
for every purpose
unto heaven
You could see the seasons
written on their faces
One hour short of a twelve
time had ceased to be
Reduced to simplicity
they wore their world
on bent backs and
defeated shoulders
And wrapped themselves tight
from the cold
with the resignation
of what destitution brings
Their bodies
like marble from ancient
institutions ;
cracked , discolored
fallen in disrepair
As they lined up waiting
To enter
I thought to myself
Truly now the Saints come
marching in