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Sunny Sunday Morning
by
Raye McDonald
Sunny Sunday morning,
not too much of a
crowd,
The organist is nervous
and she plays
the music loud.
The choir looks rather skimpy,
with only five or six,
Looks like mostly women,
With one fellow in the
mix.
Here comes Mr. Davis,
on his walker,
clink, clank, click,
He passes by a
group of kids
And gives them all a
wink.
In walks Mrs. Jackson
all dressed so
tastefully,
The women all admire her
for her
femininity.
The preacher gets his robe on,
and walks down the
center aisle,
He is a kind and Godly man
who always wears a
smile.
"If you'll kindly find your songbook
and turn to page
forty-three,
We'll sing all of the verses,
of "LOVE LIFTED ME."
We hear a baby crying and
a mother leaves her
pew,
Headed for the nursery,
She knows just
what to
do.
Sunny Sunday morning
and we've gathered
one by one
To hear the old old story
of the Father and
the Son.
And yes, we've been in worship,
We've looked into
God's face,
Our mission is before us,
"Make the world
a better place"
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