The church in winter is sanctuary
For those who are often bereft of hope.
It lies behind strange, black skeletal trees
And snow-laden ground. At the very close
Of day, its soft lights gently glow. It seems,
Although we suffer daily, we can be
Redeemed. It's not merely the stuff of dreams.
Prayers can work wonders. Indeed, it feels
Good to know that when winter hits us hard,
There are such places of warmth and love,
That hold us flawed beings in deep regard.
O We know true blessings come from above!
And like seeds, under snow, slowly stirring,
Our hearts and minds will always dream of spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem