The abandoned church stood
In an open field
Where lately not a soul had trod.
Made of weathered wood,
Now with windows sealed,
This portal to the mind of God?
Yet outside these once-cherished grounds
The townsfolk live, and life abounds,
Through changing seasons, sun and rains,
The building in neglect remains.
No bells ring
From the lonely spire,
And the ground below is suffused with weeds.
But the townsfolk sing
And stories inspire
With wisdom gleaned from the books one reads.
Now as twilight yields to darker night,
As darkness is dispelled by light,
The dawning idea is no longer denied:
No wooden door to the other side.