---=* Bells *=---

A silver voice on Sunday morn

The church bell calls it's own.

The parish dresses every shade

The pastor's black alone.

I never heard the call of God,

On faith I never dwell.

Yet every Sunday morning I'm

awakened by his bell.

We often scoff at talk of prayer,

at words of pious bent.

We laugh at others silly thoughts,

Their useless hours spent.

But even in the worst of times,

The bell is always there.

It seems to promise one and all,

I'm here, I ring, I care.

-=*=-

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