This church I stand before is mine
Next door, 3 crosses left behind
They hail from an event now passed
But the crosses, they were built to last
There they are, wrapped in lights
Not for Christmas, just to light the night
A hayride planned to journey past
It took awhile but the rain did pass
As always I parked beside the field
Weeks gone by, the crosses steeled
Standing vigil, or so I thought
One cross… two…. and one did not
I’m not sure which wind laid the waste
But mid cross fell upon its face
This was so jarring to behold
As the other, smaller two stood bold
I paused, reminded of history
Long past, but still no mystery
An innocent man had drooped far down
As devout sinners, whispering, stood around
It was poetic just to see
That one cross bent low, on its knee
I know the story, believe it true
Savior on the cross for me, for you
A pretty story for the spring
But there is sorrow that we sing
That clean cross now on muddy ground
Life keeps going, who looks around?
One person could run and lift it up
Two people and the work be shut
Instead inside the church I go
To teach a story of long ago
Prompted by: “Write a poem about noticing something interesting while passing by a church near your home.”
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