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The Beautiful Gate

The church clock ticked on

Each second awakened

And lives lingered around

The parade of footsteps

Mother’s cloak she wears

And her hat she adjusts

As she urges us on

 

Hurry on; hurry on

She whispers hoarsely

Bells are ringing; or we’d be late

Our little feet skip on

Around us, quite many

Grey and active

All haste on

 

But the dark clouds are gathering

And winds explode

Plants are tossed and hair wildest

Mother urged us on to the church

Hurry on; hurry on

She whispered hoarsely

Bells are ringing; or we’d be late

 

Our little feet skip on

To the beautiful gate

And with one shove; mothers sets it apart

And at its sight we gaped

None…

None…

None drawn within but us!

 

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