The Old Mission Church

The air is hot and humid as we sit in the church pew,
the building's very old and nothing in it's new.
The walls are cracking; the alter cloth is stained,
and I'm sure that we'd get drenched if it should rain.

The roof is leaking but the preacher keeps on preaching;
A tired fan is squeaking and the rusty door is creaking.
The paint is peeling but the people are all kneeling;
pouring out their hearts to God with honesty and feeling.

I don't know the lingo but my spirit can discern,
that the congregation's here to worship and to learn.
Oh! How fortunate I feel as in this place I kneel,
for upon this mission church is God's approving seal.

This poem won first place for the September 2008 poetry contest