Young Daniel stood and chose the Lord to stay.
Though jaws were wide and hunger burned like flame,
His faith endured, and angels bound their shame.
So rides the worker on the twilight track,
With shadows crowding close at either back.
A rattling car, the kingdom of the bold,
Where whispers trade in wallets, phones, and gold.
No angel seen with flaming sword in hand,
No miracle to make the wicked stand—
Yet still he rides, though fear may fill his chest,
And clutches tight the cross upon his vest.
For just like Daniel faced the beastly glare,
This man commutes through modern lions' lair.
Each day he dares the dark, the clutch, the den,
And prays for mercy not from beasts—but men.
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