On The Inevitable Closing Of St. Nicholas Parish Poem by Christopher Parcels

After the last funeral dirge
we melancholy crowds emerge
from one more memorial Mass.
Upon each one falls hard the urge
to flee this land of marsh and morass.

As we broken windows pass,
our shattered dreams come into mind-
no more incense, pews, or brass,
no more inner peace to find;
only shards of tempered glass.

As to a friend, we say goodbye
with a heavy heart and a silent cry
for Christmas creche and Easter grass,
for altar, chalice, baptismal font,
for one last earthly thing we want:
for happy memories not to die
amidst the shards of tempered glass.