Sunday

.

Dong….. dong….. dong…..
In the distance of my mind
I hear the church bells ringing
Dong….. dong….. dong…..
The deep melodic tone, calling, calling
Mellow, hollow, resounding
In memory’s echo chamber

.

Hurry, scurry, we can’t be late
Children stumble at a half-run
Biggest in front, smallest behind
One on a bicycle drags his foot
Slowing himself in order to wait
While the last little boy kicks stones
On the ground with his boot

.

Dong….. dong….. dong…..
In the distance of my mind
I hear the church bells ringing
Dong….. dong….. dong…..
The deep melodic tone, calling, calling
Mellow, hollow, resounding
In memory’s echo chamber

.

©Denise G Allen, 22 July 2014 07:27