Bell tower, highest rung
Goes bong, bong, bong;
One morning, one afternoon,
The rising sun, goes after
The tower and hums along.
We see it so often, it’s no longer there.
The bell sings, the sun hums,
And the shadow that’s cast slithers,
From sea to oak, intersecting and connecting.
One loose song after another, the bell no longer belongs.
