For the Week of January 19th

The Hanging Cross

There in the Dingy Streets of London I saw the Hanging Cross

Though the wall was without all its stones,

And though the vines crept up its rusted hooks,

The Hanging Cross refused to succumb to decay.

Though the wind battered the cross from all sides,

And though the frost separated every passage in its wood,

The Hanging Cross refused to succumb to abuse.

Though the red cloth around its shoulders was long ago torn from it,

And though the reach of some distant war left a gapping pit at its foot,

The Hanging Cross refused to succumb to humanity.

But it would look out over the buzzing streets for as long as it could.

This, the Hanging Cross made understood.