“The tower tall strikes bells. The day slinks out/Leaving behind skies watercolor clear/And gives the evening air the taste of song”
The valleys and the hills can hear the bells
Each evening, when they’re struck to sing, the song
Rings out in melodies simple and clear
And ponderously carried by the wind
In tributaries fanning, stretching out
To find the wearied dear, and bring them home
Such melodies themselves don’t have a home
Like bats they gather sleeping in the bells
Til evening strikes the forms to cast them out
And in their wild and dizzy flight, their song
Rolls like a trilling wave, tides by the wind
Foaming a dissonance through arias clear
But only tones of tiny bells chime clear
They cluster in their tall and towered home
And shiver at each gentle brush of wind
Unlike their larger guardian-sized bells
Who do not peal, but toll their heavy song
And send their warbled strains all rolling out
The tower tall strikes bells. The day slinks out
Leaving behind skies watercolor clear
And gives the evening air the taste of song
That send the weary wanderer to home
They heed the cheery, charmed, chastising bells
And close their doors firmly to evening wind
Heavier things than song have ridden wind
All manner of creature has been blown out
In confusion. Not so the songs of bells
Their path is wide and firm, intention clear
To send the weary, travelling sun home
To rest, to sink in slumber, wrapped in song
Because of bells, the valleys know the song
Of peaceful sleep. The waves can test the wind
In feats of strength, in fun. The anxious home
Can rest in peace when all its dear go out
To walk their roads, and keep them well swept clear
These dear will be brought home again by bells
Through wind and water, hills and sleep, the bells
Sing through the evening paths, and they send out
The drowsy day, to wash the night in clear.
Erin Brown is an MFA student at Mount Saint Mary’s University, Los Angeles.
