The preacher climbs his lofty perch
Looking down on those in church
Who’ve come to hear his sermon preached
In fiery words his flock beseeched
To remind them to their faults bemoan
And for their earthly sins atone
Words climbing to a fevered pitch
He hopes his lesson will help enrich
Those who clearly redemption seek
And that his words will last all week
His lesson done, he wipes his brow
His countenance now calm, somehow.
The organ starts, the choir stands
Yet knowing the coming week demands
He start afresh and begin anew
Wise lessons for his dwindling few.
Copyright © Philip Mygatt | Year Posted 2020
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