St. John's

The town is suddenly awakened by smoke and fire,
Flames light the sky from the parish church spire.
No more from St. John's, sound from the bells,
As the church is left in a ghostly shell.
No hymns from the organ or our heavenly choir,
Just the destruction from a ghostly fire.

The church of St John's, we were all so proud,
The surplice and cassock now serve as a shroud.
Coloured leaded windows took us back in time,
Paintings from the Bible taken from the mind.
We picture Jesus baptized by St. John in the Sea of Galilee,
Now as we walk by and hang our heads in shame,
As prayers to the Lord all now seem in vain.

Walking Day comes around, people line the streets,
Parents slip the ranks to hand out little treats,
"Onward, Christian Soldiers", played by marching bands,
Choir boys and girls, prayer books held in hand.
Church and chapel walk with banners held up high,
Lovely singing voices reaching for the sky.
We put our hearts together and say the long Amen.

by Kenneth Pendlebury

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