On A Sunday, Hearing Hymns

Down the road and round the corner
Hymns break strong and bright
The father he looks down on them
The son casts yellowy light

A little girl, stood small near mum
Questions why, and how
And underneath the learned sun
Says she, “that’s how it is, for now”

Dying leaves fall from branches
As faith feathers their wings
But after omnipotent winter
They’ll live again with spring

Father, son, mother, daughter
Life will fill the nest
But it never hurts to say your thanks
Each weekly day of rest

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