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Pew by mike bullock Sunday's here, it's time for church Your routine sharply honed Out the door by five past ten Alert and finely toned Putting right your stack of sins As you walk up the road You'll be ready for the start Cause all your weeds are hoed. Sitting in your special pew Where you have sat for years You know that if you had to move You'd be beset with tears It wouldn't be the same, you fear The blessings and the touch Only happens in your pew Elsewhere, not so much. I'm sure that God's not choosy When visiting His flock Not bound by where His creatures sit Not tethered by the clock The church of His beloved ones Are equal in His sight So open up yourselves to Him Receive what He thinks right. |
This poem may be use within Christian ministries for any non-profit purpose without requesting permission.