I saw the dead
With bones of straw,
Falling from the sky like ashes.
They said, "Our lives have set us on fire,
And the earth demands we come home."
I saw the wounded
Stealing the bones of the innocent
With closed eyes and mouths on fire.
An angel said, "Beware the poverty of the perfect--
Only in blood is the gift contained."
I saw no point
To such high talk.
I said, "I am cold,
And I feel alone."
It was then that I saw Saint John Bosco out walking with his dog,
And arrayed all around him like a cloak
Were the flock that no one wants,
The Children of the Night.