The Bell Ringer
The sleeping bells, the stolid sounds
Locked in the iron tower
That hold indifferent resonance to
The germination of a seed,
The cutting of a flower.
He wraps the ropes like ivy In the groinings of his hand
Blending joy and sorrow
With the falling sand.
Enjoyed reading this?
READ MORE! REGISTER TODAYSUBSCRIBE
You May Also Enjoy
(Militia est vita hominis super terram. — Job)
Why in me, Sir, do you…
“Well, Father, my share of the farm has
been turned into gold.
I take it…
When time was yet unmade nor seasons wrought,
Beginning’s birth unborn and unbegun,