The bells are ringing, not for me
I hear them in the high church tower
They sing a wordless melody
Counting out each passing hour
They fill the winter's frigid air
With peals of sound so true and warm
Sometimes I want to follow there
Intoxicated by their charm
And though I feel the coming squall
I will not seek shelter inside
The gentle sounds outside those walls
Much hatred and harsh words belie
For many truths I hold within
The Church believes to be a sin.
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Read Toads, Mary's Mixed Bag, Bells
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| Baptist Church Bell , Court Street, Keene NH |
(source)
