THE VILLAGE
The old village clock struck nine,
quite somber in the gloaming,
The farmers had left their fields,
most folks had done roaming.
Home lights glowed bright as another
day began to fade and die,
The shadows slowly lengthened
as a red luster filled the sky.
The laughter of the children, as they
were happily homeward bound,
Carried on the evening breeze was
such a joyful sound,
The last rays of the sun faded far
away in the glowing west,
A sign that showed at last he
had gone to rest.
Doors were closed and locked and
many prayers were said,
As this small village gave thanks before
they all went off to bed.
But if a hungry wanderer called for food,
he would call in vain,
Through that lovely village he would
beg and stay hungry and in pain.
No kindness or mercy to any strangers
did the village ever show,
Yet they did care for their own folks
and they let everyone know.
But those who did not belong were always
turned cold and hungry away,
I wonder what would happen if the
Master past by one day?

(Millicent) Ann Margetson August 26, 2003