The Little Church
I remember that little church up the hill.
I'm so surprised that it stands there still.
My family would never ever miss a Sunday.
We would get down on our knees and pray.
The preacher's voice would loudly ring.
In beautiful hymns, the congregation would sing.
Everyone felt like being touched by God's hand.
For many years from now, may that little church stand.
Inspired by another member's poem
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014
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