Shadows that have waited all day for their moment
Now stalk us as we emerge
Tripping into the night,
And swirling leaves play about our heads
Taunting our weakness.
Our faces were indistinguishable then,
Poorly lit and muffled,
And cloaks roughly woven
Kept tensely drawn until we had crossed
The threshold of light
When they were opened
Cautiously at first
Then defiantly shrugged aside
As if death had suddenly
Lost it's claim on our lives,
For we were more afraid of God
Than the devil in those days
And more in hope of salvation.

Now, on the edge of the city,
We still come
By way of the new pedestrian crossing
The statue and reserved parking,
Under the altar of scaffolding
We contribute a pound
Towards the ten million
Needed for the restoration fund.
And leaving our Bible by the door
We cross the threshold again,
Clutching a more informed guide book
Telling us where we used to kneel and pray.

And for once the video camera
Hangs sulking at our side
So that none may bear testimony
To our being there,
As all the time we pretend
We have no need of miracles in our lives.