On Sunday mornings
(weather permitting)
A middle aged woman
called Sandy
walks the gravel road
to the old church..
she brings
a notebook
& a candle..
she believes
the old church walls
listens to her prayers.
She lights the candle
in faith...
Trusting it's light
to lead the way
for loved ones past
(and Angels)
to find her..
the old walls seem
to welcome her prayers.
there are no people.
there are no pews.
just Sandy
and a candle burning..
she writes prayers
and folds then neatly
hiding them in the walls
and tiny cracks
in the wooden floors...
Knowing Angels
will find them
and take them to God.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
God bless sandy , connetta Jean i like!