Each Sunday

That little white Chapel I do remember
Nestled among those tall Maple trees
Sundays were special to us back then
We were young and wanted to please

We always beat the first bell to church
Wanting to get a seat on that back pew
There we would hear the pastor's sermon
Then be the first to go as he got through

We would wait outside for the pretty girls
Wanting to talk but not knowing what to say
They would smile as they passed by us
Some how that seemed to make my day

That little white Chapel is still standing
Calling to us sinners to come in and pray
These many years have passed and gone
But thank God I still go there each Sunday

copyright © 2012 By Acie