Today is Sunday, so it seems appropriate to post this poem written by Kathrin Gann on August 21, 1989.
Arches of oak boughs, mimosa and elm,
On cultured plots or wilder places
Briefer colors than stained glass,
Hymns in the whisper and sigh of wind in the branches
Solos by jubilant mocker and cardinal,
Incense of honeysuckle and magnolia for thanksgiving,
These are the true temple for worship.
Noises of denominations
Are mere disturbances of air,
Futile wastes of energy needed
For the practice of belief.