by Marilyn Braendeholm
Church bells. That round-up horrid sound,
reminding my spellbound soul of tears told
at fireside, and they toll, those bells,
for lamps dying, burnt-out in damp clad
tombs. And we sigh over fresh flowers
and church bells, that immortal stamp.
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"Hi, over there."
ReplyDeleteHope that makes you happy. We need to find happiness wherever we can find it. :)
Very nice Misk (or do you prefer Marilyn here?)...I love poems about bells and you've done a really fine job with this brief prose poem, describing some...am taken with the title as well. Congrats.
ReplyDeleteChurch bells have a legacy, well captured here. Such bells are not as prevalent here as they are in Europe, I gather. Are the common in the UK?
ReplyDeleteVery vivid; I can almost hear the sound of the bells throughout. And I love your internal rhymes..
ReplyDeleteChurch bells have always been comforting to me; your poem has given me a new perspective. I enjoyed reading. xo
ReplyDeleteThank you everyone for your lovely comments.
ReplyDeleteLovely phrasing, Misk. I'm all out of superlatives!
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