The Church I Never Entered
Sarah LawThe Church I Never Entered
stood opposite the conference hall,
its buttery Victorian-gothic walls
aspiring, still, to the indifferent sky.
Each of those three June days it waited
as I trekked from requisitioned
student room to plenary,
Come in for a while, said the sign.
I will next time: Iíll sit a minute,
light a candle, start a muttered prayer.
But every time I left it there. It
was partly that great door: fearing
I would be seen as a struggling fool.
So the three days passed Ė
I never ventured in from the wide road.
It glimmers now in my mindís map;
a little gold thought in the dark.
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