Sunday In The Chill Of Spring Poem by Isadora Quagmire

As winter's chill begins to fade,
A cold spring day, with frost displayed,
I wrap my coat around me tight,
And head to church, where warmth and light,
Await to greet me, a peaceful sight.


The stone building stands, a steadfast friend,
A haven from the chilly wind that blows and bends,
The trees, they sway, with branches bare,
As I walk up the path, with reverence to share.


The doors, they creak, as I push them wide,
And step inside, where warmth and love reside,
The scent of old wood, and polished pew,
Envelops me, as I take my seat anew.


The organ plays, a solemn, sweet refrain,
As worshippers gather, to praise and to obtain,
The minister speaks, with words of gentle might,
Guiding us through, the scriptures' holy light.


The cold, it fades, as love and joy take hold,
As we sing hymns, with voices young and old,
The congregation, many, yet a unified throng,
United in faith, our hearts and spirits strong.


The sacraments, a symbol of love and sacrifice,
Are shared among us, a reminder of Christ's device,
To bring us closer, to the divine and true,
And fill our hearts, with a love that shines anew.


As the service ends, and we file out the door,
The cold spring air, it greets us once more,
But we are warmed, by the love we've shared,
And the knowledge, that we're not alone, or scared.


The sun, it shines, with a gentle, hopeful ray,
As we depart, with a sense of peace that stays,
And though the day, may still be cold and grey,
Our hearts are filled, with a love that chases the chill away.