The Bell

Cold, rainy, dark, 5-degree
Highland day - so tired I was
I rested in bed the morning,
could not make it into town

peace was written on the air, my
stomach felt it, and some days
a body needs rest, not renown
for all hard work being done

thoughts hover around the garden,
my world, as round a light,
the centred orb fills my waking
hours - I put off movement

to far-flung places foreign and
unfamiliar, but the journey awaits
nonetheless -

what happened to the little brass
bell that hung in the eaves' corner,
that rung lightly in summer
with the breeze?  Lost in the

fast-flowing flood like all the other
priceless things I saw go
out the door, and my unsafe

brother's hand was no keeper
of respect or good deeds.
Love does not list mistakes,
tally up the works of darkness?
Love should forgive all things

I am told, but as the navy
light comes down and my small
brights light my room, I am worn

with forgiveness.  I have no
little brass bell to tinkle the
summer's mild air - I lost it
somewhere.  Am I my brother's

keeper when he chose the wide way?
Paved with airy flights, grandiose
schemes?
that see him labour his days
in gaiety
with no remorse?  How
could it be worse.

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