Wednesday, August 20, 2025

Sunday Morning

Every once in a while I think about organized religion and realize it's not for me. That's the story behind this poem.


Sunday Morning


A handful of gulls,

wings white as virtue,

tug at my soul.


              Soar

Circle                 Glide


Once, twice

A simple call and response

Echo of devotion


Their maneuvers needle

this non-churchgoer,

A reminder of what I once

                                believed.


Chants now

freewheel above me.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor 

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