we could see it
from
the road as we drove
by, it was
a white church.
clap boards, old timber
held
it together.
the arched roof,
the tattered cross
needing paint, but too high
up to venture
painting.
empty now, a shell
on the shore
of this
dying town.
the doors opened
to see
the turned over
pews,
the altar gone,
hymnals strewn about
the floor,
but lives must have
filled it
at one time.
people of faith,
or no faith
kneeled there,
they prayed, got married,
babies were
baptized
it was a final
stop
along the way,
before the nearby grave.
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