Born of clay, by fire galvanized.

You stand unmoved against the patchwork skies.

Though much you’ve seen, much you’ve yet endured.

Living for love, and not by the sword.

Tend first to their needs, and then to yours.

Your fate among the saints has been ensured.

To be met in glory at the palace doors.

Yes, cracks run down your sides and to your core.

But you are not defined by the suffering you’ve faced.

Rather by survival in the name of Grace.

And if anyone would challenge you,

They’d quickly turn around.

Wilder beasts than they have tried to bring you to the ground.

But you stand solid, forevermore, your feet are bolted down.

By the anchors of your duty, until the final trumpet sounds.

That one day you might look with peace upon the life you led.

Knowing though you shook, and though you tilted, you remained


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