There once lied a sleeping town ,
were no hens layed their eggs on the ground.
There were no carts filled with grain ,
off to the market on this harvest day .

No barking dogs ,
or crying child ,
or cockerels with a **** a doodle dooo !

Just the sound of the church bells ring ,
thankful to God for their harvest of wheat and corn .

Now the.men wore hats ,
the ladies pritty ribbons and bows .
The paster dressed in black ,
a long Cassock with piercing eye.

The congregation had the eyes of lambs ,
cought on every word ,
as nought could be heard .

The sermon was of sobering thought ,
that without Gods help we are but nought .
That angels might open dungeon cells
and the strange old lady down the road ,
dos’nt really consort with the dead ,
or so I’m told !

Now the preacher in black who was so brave ,
closed the Bible with a smile ,
which turned to a frown ,
for there were many souls to save .
“ Go in peace I wish you well ,
for there are many this day bound for hell .

The tins for the needy and the poor were simply stacked ,
with a ribbon and wreath ,
and delivered to open doors ,
even to the lady who didn’t smile ,
who fed the cat remains of ,
what ever lied in the dregs of the soup !

So when the last hymn was sung of poems of old of storms to come ,
and title waves ,
that lead the dead to run back to their graves ,
tea and cake was served to the ladies with ribbons and bows ,
and the gents with hats smoked and rubbed their chins .

Meanwhile an elderly gent waited by the gate ,
he had no friends ,
he didn’t go in ,
but waited for the wind to arrive .

He smiled as the first gust arrived ,
holding onto his hat just the same ,
he turned then walked home again.