Stained Glass Windows


The ten o'clock train whistles loudly by the town,
The clicking of the wheels as they go round and round.
Sunday morning peddler's walk idly down the street,
Seeking some money to buy their spouse's a treat.

Church bells ring offering a solicit invitation,
To the broken and lost in need of salvation.
People have time and could easily attend,
But their spirits tell them they wouldn't fit in.

Although only few walk through the broad steeple doors,
The pastor stands proud for the sake of the Lord.
The pews are empty and the crowd is small,
But the stained glass windows seem to light up the walls.

Pink, yellow, a rich ruby red,
Seem to melt away some of the sorrow and dread.
The countless faces all tell different stories,
And each one makes you treasure your small list of glories.

As the sun gets higher and midday arrives,
The colors seem to keep their spirits alive.
The pastor preaches. Forgiveness is found.
The storm waters recede, and no one has drowned.

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