One  dreary night,
on a park bench covered in snow.
An old man sat, with his coat pulled tight,
shivering in the frosty light.

Snowflakes fell with a gentle grace;
he brushed them away in angry haste.
Some remained like threads of lace.
Outlining a sad and troubled face.

Dear God, he said, can you tell me why,
where once you walked,
Now thousands die.
So many more Displaced,
and maimed,
By those who claim,
it’s in your name.

As he spoke,
His tears began to flow,
falling on his shaking hands,
My hand he then let go.

When I turned to say goodbye.
A thousand angels filled  the sky
And one came down to cry.