Sitting on the noonday bench,
Entrenched within the slope
Of failing wood and chipping paint,
The sky is clear yet spent,
Speckled with the fleeing clouds,
Or maybe they are seeded new,
The breeze is quick - the city scent
Is carried beneath the noonday blue.

Late eve talking with some friends of mine,
Sitting in a call as the minutes pass on by,
A warm lamp shining down on my desk,
Yet the light is cold on my skin tonight,
You Lord can do something new,
Guide my words,
Toss some light through their windows at night,
And place your shadow in their sight,
Lord you can do it in your mighty providence,
Give them hints of your mighty presence,
And warm their lost hearts,
Amen.