Standing, crookedly, at the bottom of this foothill,
Placed temporarily, as space was readied for a higher location,
On the mountain above;
Which never happened.
In sorrow, a labyrinth was made around,
Making me more of a destination,
Despite my sad, sacramental state,
I await the attention of the Church who placed me here.
So, I may illuminate their lives with joy,
And change this verse of lamentations.
To one of light.