Resonance of the Knell
High on the steeple the carillon toll.
Lest they not tinkle, but bellow and roll.
Their sound as it blusters will summon the Heralds,
the flurries enhancing their timely carols.
Silvery skies ashen and grey, exalt in the choir atoning and gay.
Softly, softly, the snowfall descends,
on cobbled ruins where gravestones lay.
Sculpted Angels lie dusted in snow, their faces angelic,
untouched by the cold.
Blundered and tainted the cemetery lay,
until the Knell rises once more from the Bay.
Cast down from thy zenith, until eventide's flicker,
whence more cometh sound from the bell towers nicker.
Their carol is joyous, brought forth from the dross,
Heavens breath has commended, sing forth as she flows!
Cry oh bells with your infinite song,
deliver your tidings so heavily sown.
Divine is the hark you so highly define,
were it more quaint, it shan't be sublime.
The host of thy song maketh me writhe, be willed to contend,
for your song is alive!
Exceeding beyond all lesser contentment,
renown is thy orison, be hearty and listen!
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