Little White Church

There’s a little old chapel,
Just down the road,
Where saints have worshipped,
And praised their Lord.

It once was white,
And sparkling clean.
From within its walls,
Hope was gleaned.

Its members thrived
With love and peace;
Faithful and true
Until their lives ceased.

Years have passed,
The church is old.
The tales of its past
Are no longer told.

It sits in the shadows
Of towering oaks,
Lost in the memory
Of all its old hopes.

Silence is all
That is to be heard.
The only singing
Is that of the bird.

No one now sits
In the wood pews.
The white of the walls
Has turned to gray hues.

Forgotten and left
To the elements of earth.
It’s the sad fate,
Of the little white church.


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