There's a stern tall green willow tree,
Where Gods children use to play,
Seasonal winds blowing, blow
Waving branches sway,
The church yard always pretty,
Church bells ring on Sunday noon,
Like a gorgeous painted picture,
Colorful flowers stand full bloom,
Church doors they did open,
Ushers smile with greet,
To warmly welcome you,
As they guide you to your seat,
Looking across the pulpit,
I heard the preacher say,
Come to the alter...dear one,
Where your grandma use to pray,
I felt I wasn't good enough,
To stand among the saints,
What if I had to testify,
What would the people think?
When standing at the alter,
I felt a big defeat,
Something hit my soul,
Conquering my weak,
When I went back to the pews,
I still stood upon my feet,
Wanting to give testimony,
To feel wholesome or complete,
There's many books in Bible,
Which I have never read,
Oft times been called unsuitable names,
No, not enoughs been said,
I lived and learned what was sin,
I learned how to forgive,
I learned prayers are truly answered,
Peace can reside within,
I learned money is only money,
Problems it can bring,
And you're still somebody, Yes!
If no fortune and no fame,
You'll always find busy bodies,
Or people placing blame,
Down sizing you to stay ahead,
Of mankinds wicked games,
I'd also like to add,
I'm glad to be here this day,
And testify at the church,
Where grandma use to pray

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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