The churches fell to flowers long ago
The people fled
And beds of daffodils have measured waning hours
And tears they shed.
The stones broke into blossom long years gone
Some said the sunlight lit them so they glowed
Today they sign their names
To season’s will.
The windows broke of course, the shattered glass
Is shredded underneath the overpass
But if you close your eye the steeple shines
With needled pines.
His chapel fell but worshipers return
From black and white to where the fires still burn
And ashes on the ground are flowers that tell
His tales again.
Written for ReadWritePoem # 13, not quite starting with the line "His chapel fell into flowers long ago" from a poem by Norman Dubie.