My White Shirt

I still wear a white shirt every Sunday;
it makes it seem like things are normal still.
I'm sure they'll let us back in church some day,
that little red brick building on the hill.
Your church may be a mosque or synagogue,
but I would guess you miss it just as much.
Your friends have missed your friendly dialogue,
yet all this time you've tried to keep in touch.
Perhaps a few of them will now be gone;
the virus may have claimed a life or two,
but if they are, you know you must move on;
the ones that still remain depend on you.
Sometimes God moves in quite mysterious ways,
but he will stop this thing one of these days.