…of the bell
A silent spring wood
a place well hidden from all
a leaf chased by wind
a cloud of sparrows startle
still a peace remains
the dream is quiet for now
a slow drifting boat
barely raising a ripple
the sun sinking low
throwing down long dark shadows
the silence broken
by sudden frantic rattling
the windows trembling
in their fragile wooden frames
then from the distance
there comes the sound of the bell
as the dream stretches
effortlessly rolls over
reveals a dark face
fear rides in on a cold wind
the bell seems closer
I cannot awaken yet
I cannot recall
and I do not wish to know
I dread the quiet
yet I pull it close to me
I thirst for silence
die a little more inside
and strain to hear the bell toll
© Ann Bagnall
