The dead and wilted flowers play
Alone inside a dried up vase,
The shocking dance, a sad display.
The happy memories displace
Dried up petals, a fine disgrace,
The dancing stems made up of rot,
Bowing down their balding face.
I look away and see it not.

The church’s walls, a whited gray,
They close in for a cold embrace.
The silent question cast away
Façade of truth, the tears retrace.
Is God alone? The Spirit’s grace,
The Savior of our souls is brought
To witness fellowship abase.
I look away and see it not.

A child, a boy in garish day,
His bony frame, his sunken face,
His skin is blackened in decay,
A ghostly smile that’s out of place.
No kindness shown toward his race,
No sympathy, no solace sought.
The love once felt he will erase.
I look away and see it not.

The boy child lost without a trace,
The flower dead, a new one bought,
The patrons of the church efface,
I look away and see it not.