The Little Old Church

The little church was standing, silent on a hill
It's woodwork old and rotting, doors bang to at will
The old bell tower was cracking, the bell it had no rope
To call the folk to church with it you did not have a hope

The seats were broke and splintered, timber all mildew
Hole's in backs and bottoms, you could fall right through
The graveyard long deserted, the vigour slept within
Although in church his missing, it did not seem a sin

As I stood there just looking wondering what to do
A shaft of light shone over me, and seemed to pass right through
I felt a mighty presence, my soul it cried out loud
I knew the lord was kind to me and then my head I bowed

The moral of my story, though it's crumbling like a clod
In this little old church, you are always close to God.

by A. Ed Bollington

Other poems of A. ED BOLLINGTON (1)

Comments (2)

taht is a very great thinking of yours. you are really blessed with imagination and true use of words. i really enjoyed very much. please read my poems at www.poemhunter.com/ravi-chandran i will be very greatful if you comment me \thank u keep it up.
Excellent work! Good flow and message.