A Church Without the Need For Prayer

There is a place that’s dear to me Upon the rolling Cumbrian hills A church without the need for prayer Where Wordsworth saw his daffodils, A place where poetry writes itself With soft simplistic elegance In words that dance and interplay With timeless grace and sweet romance. There is a song I love to hear When memories are not yet dead So far away, so crystal clear It wanders softly through my head, To make my dreams feel sanctified Extraordinary as it seems My song gives me the deep insight That dreams are never merely dreams. There is a moment that I need When every motion fades away A touch of newborn innocence That signifies the coming day, A pause before the rising dawn When sun tied clouds have struggled free To let my moment wander on In search of what is soon to be. Between the morning and the night The sounds of life are dear to me, Like waves that crash upon a shore Or children’s laughter dancing free , But most of all my senses feel The need for what is pure and true, For every poem I ever penned Is never more than ”I love you…”