Golden light glinted from the skin beneath a brilliant blue uniform
A spherical image of the holy helper hung loosely about his neck
Upon it said: ‘Regarde St Christophe et va-t-en rassuré...’
Yet, on one knee his liquid eyes contained a nuance of bored concern
He only proposed to carry his load halfway, after all.
Above and beyond the call of duty, Shakti appeared in the night
I stumbled into her arms and wept, filled with grief and lost providence
Pastel nursery walls were stripped again. Life, would change once more
In the neighbouring room, a soul cried “Christopher! Take me home!”
But it was Shakti held us fast that night; for he was long departed.
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