Nine of us gathered to pray,
Plan, laugh and love the work
And each other. Nine committed
Brown faces, hopeful and caring. 

As we met in this other place,
Charleston could have been us. 
But the sainted nine, gone first,
Walk through heaven’s gate.

They, filled with hate’s bullets, to
Grace beyond our mortal knowing,
May they pray for those of us
Left to cry, grieve and hold on. 

K. Bruce Florence 
June 18, 2016