CHURCH BELLS CHIME SLOWLY

CHURCH BELLS CHIME SLOWLY

Quiet morning in the village,
sun pale in the marketplace.

Saints and sinners mill about,
gloom on their collective face.

A coffin raised atop a buggy,
draped in finery and flowers.
Women weep in their handkerchiefs,
their men stand stoical and dour.

The church bells chime slowly
For the one we all loved.
A slow, somber march to a cool place of rest.

An untimely passing has jarred all our minds
And put our beliefs to the test.

Raise him high on the wings of a unicorn,
The cherubim and seraphim.
His ashes scatter far and wide,
His ghost alive in every hymn.

His eulogy will float along,
the towering banks of every stream.

The world will pause and feel the loss
That echoes in his widow’s dreams.

The church bells chime slowly as the buggy arrives.
In the graveyard mist where we say goodbye.
Where we all bow our heads and hold all our breath,
Humbled, alas, by the mystery of death.

Quiet morning in the village, sun pale in the marketplace,
Saints and sinners whisper prayer,
The bagpipes moan amazing grace.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED