A Place of Rufuge

It’s an old church,
A simple, but solid
Wooden structure,
Badly in need of paint,
That stands as a sentinel
Over the old part of town.
It was erected at a time
When the surrounding area
Was vibrant and alive,
And could call itself
A community.
By the size of it,
It probably had
A large congregation
At one point in time,
But not many are left.
The younger generations
Seem to prefer
The churches built
In the new part of town,
If they go at all.
For those who still come,
The old church
Is a refuge,
A tranquil sanctuary
Offering a respite
From the hustle bustle
Of city life.