Muse

20160424_130806

The song of bells

drifted in the air,

silvery and rhythmic,

the jogging knells

lifted, with care,

Evesham’s mystic

toll that tells

gifted to share

treasure less cryptic.

Shell, bare, monolithic

archway in misuse,

Benedictine abuse.

Muse.

 

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2 thoughts on “Muse

  1. Bastet says:

    That is really a fantastic muse you’ve got there – and a splendid poem. Bravo!

  2. A beautiful poem 🙂

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