Twilight Poem by kendall thomas

A white rustic church with spire
sits in the twilight by the side of the road
as if a toy in some child's playset
where I used to go

There were memories even then of doubt
as I listened to the pious voices of the devout
the shuffling of tired feet on artificial ground
the miracles of a man in a faraway land

No angels but birds fly through this corralling dusk
the voice of the crickets have become the choir
of a cleric moon offering its Eucharist
through the branches of puzzling trees

But sermons go on too long
and little children are given to sleep
when words are only words
and mother's lap the soul of eternity