The churchyard covered in morning light,
Little beads of dewy white.
Women dressed in Sunday best.
The men, chic-ly clad.
The church is white and red and gold.
Atop a spire, the Star of Bethlehem glows.
Perched upon it are little birds, watching the scene unfold.
The sky is blue except for a ribbon of violet
That sprawls across the horizon.
A man in a top hat sings a song
As the children listen, quiet.
The dawn has broken, and the church bells toll
Ringing out the prophecies old.
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