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The doors still creaked as they did before, age emanating from the very core;
The walls, ceiling, his arms and legs, even the floor, worn smooth and warped
From the years of trodden feet.
The smells bring back his youthful visits;
Peeking through, to view, the wooden pews;
An instant melancholy envelops him, the quite sparseness of the empty rows;
He recalls a lively din that greeted him, those seventy some odd years ago;
When first he happened through those creaking doors;
A wide-eyed lad who had just turned ten.
He feels the eyes of the few, he moves as assiduously as his aged legs will allow;
Shuffling down to find a familiar pew, it’s empty along with so many others too;
Seated he bows his head, not to pray, his memory has strayed to his wedding day;
Standing a mere few feet away, he said his vows, now his love was gone to stay;
He was returned to the present when the organ played;
The congregation stood, such as it was, he counted eleven, he made a dozen;
Thirty years he’d come to worship and pray, forty-seven more he’d been away.
Now the place felt more forlorn than the grave;
He knew not a soul and they knew not he;
Ah! But there had been a day, the youngest deacon was he,
He knew his people and they knew he; And there was life in this place;
Now decay: Like the men of tragedy it was dying from the inside out;
He sat through the service in heart ache and pain.
He rose to sing the final hymn, overcome with an anger he’d never felt before;
Nearly a rage as he flipped about to find the hymn’s page.
In defiance of decay he sang the song at the top of his lungs;
He would not succumb to the tragedy!
When the final line was sung the few applauded what he had done;
He smiled, then held up his hands and as silence fell he began;
He prayed out loud for every man and when he was done there were tears in eyes
And a shouted: Amen. Well it was more than a whisper, so let’s call it a shout!
There and then he knew what the rest of his life was about.
He would bring life back to this place, his place, God’s house;
It would be his mission till his dying day.
A stoic accountant by trade he prayed long and worked hard at becoming engaging
He preached, he prayed, and he tried to teach each day what God had shown him
Along the way. Always faithful to the “Good Book” with patience and persistence
Which is what it took. The people came back through those creaking doors.
One or two at a time, but they kept coming just the same;
Ten years later, on the Sunday of his ninety-seventh birthday;
He shuffled up to the pulpit for an opening prayer;
As he looked out at the assembled all he could do is stare;
There was not an empty seat in the house and so all he could do was shout;
Halleluiah! Halleluiah! Halleluiah!
And everyone there knew what it was about.
He didn’t make it to see ninety-eight.
He’d been ill for a while, so the Pastor went to see him.
With his final words he did implore him
Be true to “The Word” and teach the people to pray.
 I know in this way, you will prevent the tragedy of decay;
And 
We will all be together, forever, in heaven to stay.
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