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.
"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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