How many hands caressed these ancient stones
where now ivywort creeps?
Beauty in timeless peace.
How many hymns of praise arose
and graced this place?
Now filled with songs of birds.
Sparrows seen by You
fearlessly approach.
A reminder that You see me.
I sit midst ancient ruins
warmed by sun
sheltered by weathered walls
soaking Your presence -
more evident here
than by golden altars
and priestly tours.
Long worn tombs of Saints surround
the sky a roof,
yet these ruins are not dead -
they teem with life.
flowers spill from brick's veins
and music all around.
God is here,
not mocked by missing walls,
but sits with us on grassy carpets
enjoying the song of sparrows and our hearts.
writethelovesite 