the prompt as always printed in bold.
With the new year round the corner,
the white-bearded man rolled through the church doors.
To sent up a simple prayer in final hope,
that there was someone to take the call.
He kneeled down as he had done as a faithful child,
and waited for a hand to stop his fall
but there was no sign nor light,
in heart nor mind.
So he stood up and vanished,
facing the cold and lonely winter night.