Mike Youssefian



Posted on February 17, 2014 at 9:55 AM

In the old rugged country

Where ancestors are buried,

There is a church carved in stone

With all the saints on its face.

There is a brook flowing by,

And a lonely cypress tree,

With a nest of stork on top,

And the breeze playing its harp,

Anointing walls of the shrine.

I open the heaven’s gate

And enter the sacred hall

To listen the melodies

Of love and praise of angels.

I dream my life to conclude

Within the walls of this cave,

Where there are saints on the walls,

Guarding and blessing my soul.


Categories: None

Post a Comment


Oops, you forgot something.


The words you entered did not match the given text. Please try again.

Already a member? Sign In