The Bell
The Bell
Encased in the grime of the tower
A perch for birds at play
Waiting to show its power
A voice at the end of the day
Clear in the still night air
Ageless songs are heard
Its message is laid bare
It says not a word
Both a servant and master
Revered by those who know
Brings sorrow and laughter
It swings both fast and slow
Burned in a forge of fire
Poured like the blood of hell
Lifted to its heavenly spire
Deep throated is the bell.
Copyright © Richard Francis | Year Posted 2009
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