Jim Lackey
The windows are gone, and the pulpit too;
As are all the people, and every pew.
The rafters are strewn with old bird’s nests
And only the lizards now go there to rest.
But then, every year, just before Mother’s Day,
Kith and kin journey up that highway.
They start to arrive with the pre-dawn hours
Bringing all kinds of food and all kinds of flowers.
Many we knew rest under this sod
As do many others known only to God.
Still more headstones are added each year
As every day our own time grows near.
There’s preaching and singing, and sweet tea ice cold;
The laughter abounds at old stories retold.
No body minds the sweat on their face
And everyone’s quiet as the preacher says “Grace”.
But then all too soon it’s time to go home
And that old block building is again all alone.
But next May we’ll revisit this tradition so old--
To that lonely old church by the side of the road.
Jim Lackey, 5/9/14