People flow into a church
Like so many butterflies
Heading south
Soon they flow out of the pews
Like the flowers that flow over the altar
And like the flowers too,
Their voices rise and mingle
As though they were roses
Emitting an aroma that mingles like dust in the musty air
And they,
Like the trembling lamb before them,
Serve and follow someone they don’t
And never will understand.
As one they are strong,
And they form a brick that can never
Be shaken.
But they, like flowers, will wilt
They, like sheep, will be led astray,
And they, like both
Will die.