Rickinghall Chapel - a Memory of Rickinghall.
I came to a chapel on high ground,
The door of old English oak invited,
History was captured on the uneven white walls
And reflected on high stained windows,
And there was love
She spoke of God as a family friend,
A guest for dinner, that would never attend,
Of times he would talk, but never speak,
Sometimes go, but never leave,
A friend that would always be there,
So clear the song,
The metaphor stayed,
just sat there and prayed
And there was love,
If this filled me with such emotion now,
How would I feel when I finally meet Him.
David Coe 2000
A memory shared by on Nov 8th, 2006. Send David Coe a message
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