Seraphic Stranger

There is this man of kirk 

that walks in the murk,

makes his aisle 

among the missiles, 

among agony shrouded air

and broken lairs.

He offers coats to bound 

straps for wound,

even puts food for the abandoned hound.

He gives shoulders to cry on,

mends on what he could,

and asks

for one thing back,

Shows kindness to others back.

He wraps children in his arms

through the troubled night,

and waits

for the morning

and its bright sunlight.