There’s a little white church on a quiet county road,
It holds many secrets and stories to be told.
There are many wooden pews, worn and used,
Filled by people with the same old views.
There’s a little white church filled with voices,
And a congregation that makes the same choices.
The wooden floors, show the treads,
Where people walk and children are wedged.
There’s a little white church where many are married,
And then later on, children are carried.
The metal rails on the sides of the step,
Have kids hanging right and left.
There’s a little white church, where many gather,
To hear the a sermon and lots of chatter,
Dresses and skirts, ties and shirts,
Marking the Sabbath and a day for church.
There’s a little white church that filled with singing,
Songs and hymns with the organ ringing.
Words that calm me, make me feel safe,
Words of joy, of love, of wrath.
There’s a little white church that fills my past,
Memories and ways that are bound to last.
Ideas with which I don’t agree,
But things that are special cause they make me, me.
