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…”
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