I was taken

much against my will

Sunday mornings to listen

fidgeting ill

the glory of god & those who preach

& I listened good

there was nothing else to do

& what seemed to be missing

was those preaching love

had so little to give

wanted me to applaud

the cold hands reproach in every look

waving aloft the good book

taking the money given

offering too oft recited feeble words back

& those who took me there

when I looked in their cupboards


you know the story there

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