Tell me true and treat me right, through cloister stained glass mid day can seems as the darkest of night.

Why does the bell tower toll in the mid day so joyously? What news could the Kirk fryer tell? Pray tell, in the midst of hard maple benches and cold marble halls, is there a God with a heart of flesh for us all? Or does he reside, like the saints and apostles, up on a ledge as a perch for a fowl? When I kneel down and pray midst the grandeur of the abby, does the silence that fills, reflect the response from this so called Daddy?

Or like crimson candles that shimmer and glow, goes my prayer up to God for a soul whiter than snow?