On a cold, rainy night, in a tiny Atlantan town,
A middle-aged British man, gripped his coat and looked down.
He was walking to the place, where anyone may go.
A place that’s dry and warm, when you’re tired and slow.
Twas a cold winter’s night, and the wind blew at him hard,
But he clung to the package for which he stood guard.
Wrapped in his coat, he approached the large Church.
He rapped on the door, and stood on the stairs, perched.
The massive door opened, welcoming the man in.
And he took a second to collect himself from the cold winter wind.
The man who opened the door spoke first:
“The brethren told me you were coming.
But what is this cargo you have that they say is so stunning?”
The man who came in, opened his coat and produced
a tiny infant, shaking from the cold Winter’s abuse.
“William.” said the man who was shaking from the cold.
“William is the babe’s name. And he is worth more than gold.”
The man from the Church took the baby in his arms,
and wrapped him in blankets to keep him snug and warm.
“Fenris,” the church man said, “From where did he come?”
Fenris replied: “From a place cold and numb, from the streets of London.
His mother,” Fenris’ started to recount the tale,
“Was a friend from our Church, a strong woman, yet frail.
She feared for her life, and gave him to me.
She said to take him to the land of the free.
To the knights here in Atlanta. To the men who stand high.
She told me to raise him as a Knight of Adonai.”
The Church man nodded, and tended to Fenris and William.