East Brainerd Road
I didn't know where i was going,
but it was early Sunday morning,
and the Easter Sunday service,
had just begun.
They were standing in the field;
searching for the risen Savior,
hands all clasped together,
down East Brainerd Rd.
As I stepped out of my car,
I was taken by the hand,
by the softest brown eyed angel,
with a heart of shining gold.
She led me to the circle,
with are hands still joined together ,
there I found my true salvation ,
down East Brainerd Rd.
At a little Baptist Church,
in a town without a name,
a half a mile from Alabama Street,
all dressed in white.
They were standing in ailses,
as I took my angels hand;
they all shouted halleluja,
down East Brainerd Rd.
Every day I work our field,
plowing in a straight line,
because there only direction
for our lives to grow.
I'm standing in our field,
with the kids all in a circle,
hands all joined together ,
Down East Brainerd.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.