The Temple: an original poem by Daniel A. Popovich
When I began my mother said,
It will be hard my friend,
The Enemy cannot be beat,
If you can-not defend,
The house that you were given,
At birth to serve God well,
At stake is nothing less than bitter, burning fires of hell.
Your body, thick or thin and short or tall in all its beauty,
The Devil is a pirate true and wants to snatch your booty.
Don’t let that Thing to do it friend,
Find comp-any that will,
Support you on your journey to the summit of the Hill.
It’s there that you will meet three men,
Two sinners and a God.
If you have made it here just join the Peaceful Army’s squad.
With us you’ll carry lumber,
To build a chapel true,
A tiny little well spring,
‘Ere the Spirit may flow through.
To quench the thirsty seekers,
That wander deserts bare,
And seek to fill their lungs with precious mild and sweet cool air.