bells

calling home the herd,
in dribs and drabs,
morning prayers like silk
are hardly there
at all.

the old chapel
has weighty crooked posts
the place at which i lean,
towards the east
away from the flock.

one day a week,
the bell peals,
and few are left to hear,
we go about our work,
and forget all that we have learnt.

life is a wheel,
a whetstone on which to make
our hearts clean,

one day a week,
the bells peal,
one day a week,
the bells peal.

bells

uncleblack

Joined February 2010

  • Artwork Comments 6

Artwork Comments

  • ArcadiaTempest
  • uncleblack
  • 8upchef
  • uncleblack
  • devotee1
  • uncleblack
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