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Untitled Poem, written by Rosemary Goodenough My church belongs to God. Its roof the sky. God's church Has no need of walls To keep the unclean out, Or doors guarded by an elder In a business suit. There are no pews, but endless Space to rest. No aisles but paths Leading to the glory of the setting sun. Where man's belief in God Is restored by beauty and makes him part Of His incomprehensible plan. There is no choir in fancy dress. Just birds singing for joy in the sun. No creed. Just taking each day as it comes There is no asking, no taking; Only a silence so profound That it fills one with abundance. There is no time set for worship. Minutes snatched in busy days To glance up at the sky. Leaves moving In the wind or patterned light and shade, The rich scent of hay or smell of rain After a drought will make men pray. What worshippers of idols we have become In the name of god fashioned by man Cut to man's needs. Supposedly pleased By rich furnishings and Sunday worship. Heathens we are, worshippers of Mammon Using our church as a fortress. As it was, so let it be. We pay for it So it can stay this way, festering Narrow beliefs, righteous behavior Cruel judgments. When threatened Call the police and with guns and gas Teach the invaders ... what? The power Of idolatry.

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