Photo by Danist Soh on Unsplash
The sentence looking fine and peeling well –
a brass bell sounding in a steeple still
echoing round the village
e’en after fading out –
is not a poem made,
nor foundation laid
for a choir to shout
in stonewalled acoustic
reaching to the sky.
About the Creator
G. Douglas Kerr
I am a hermit and sometimes come out of my shell.
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