The Demise Of Horton Bank Baptist Church Poem by C Richard Miles

On Horton Bank the Baptists cry,
Lamenting that their church is lost,
For carpet dealers occupy
Their space and trade at cut-price cost.

Now Axminsters are all displayed,
In plastic sheeting, yet untrod,
Where once great congregations prayed
And bowed the knee to worship god.

The only worship practised still
Is to admire plush wool pile’s weight,
Whilst cash fills ever-jingling tills
Instead of offertory plate.

But don’t be disconcerted that
Religion’s left these hallowed halls,
For ornate kinds of prayer mat
Adorn deconsecrated walls.

More fervent now, than long ago,
Believers heed the call to prayer
From mosques. If Christian folk were so
Devout, their church would still be there.