Through the wind and the rain I stand hard as a stone in a world that I can’t rise above. I react to my hardships with the British stiff upper lip that made us strong in Medieval combat. It’s that which makes me strong that makes the friends flock to me for advice, because I’ve charged through the battlefield and come out scratched, bruised and bleeding, but come out nonetheless.

But there are some that can’t stand the rain, that get blown back into the shadows by the unrelenting wind.
For them I will always be there, even if nothing comes back my way.

For them I will stand in front of them with my arms spread wide, taking away some of the pain and urging them to keep walking.

Because some people look at the fight and think it can’t be won, despair at the numbers facing them, but I will stand there, hard as a stone, with wings made of dreams, and I will be their concrete angel.