For many years they’ve filled a church
on a long winding country road
where people sat every Sunday
as God’s special word was bestowed.
They were crudely built with lumber
members sawed at the local mill.
They had no cushions to sit on
but they were made with special skill.
Even though uncomfortable
old men could still go to sleep
while the preacher preached his sermon
and sometimes the women would weep.
They held many grieving people
while obituaries were read
to people seeking God’s comfort
as together their tears were shed.
Flowers and candles were fastened
with white ribbons at each row’s end
when young couples were married
in the presence of every friend.
Beneath each pew was dried up gum
especially where the young folks sat
in a couple of rows at the back
and laughed at a woman’s new hat.
Now they stand proudly year after year
with dust where you can write you name.
They miss those who once worshipped there
knowing they have no need of shame.
They did their task so very well
and complaining is not their style.
They treasure all their memories
and if you look you’ll see them smile.
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