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Ode to an Old Church

to those who built her so long ago
those who gave their blood, their sweat, their tears
could they have known or did they want
that she should stand 900 years

two young boys playing around the church
the old church of an old Christian town
one carries a sling-shot, another a spear
perhaps will sleigh Goliath in his gown

the eternal peace of the church decaying
among the struggling of the elements
a life of charm and fantasy endure
the people contented in their tenements

modern discontent, the rupturous search
loathed by old ladies in their praying
a chorus of conflicted harmony
like the flowers of the church-yard swaying

like the earth itself, its mountains eroding
perhaps the bells will not forever play
somewhere someone still sings the melody
as our attempts to love will not decay