I render those days as
Colorful as they sometimes
Seem still, and the ringing
In the town sounding again --
Muted though by time even if
Something still remains -
Crushed stone, perhaps
The bell. Perhaps the steps
Down from the church and
Around the corner to the
Library where when she
Needed books my grandmother
Took me. I reveled in
Them as well and still do
Though I no longer
Listen for the bell,
And whatever ringing
There is may be
Illusion only and the
Words still here arrange
Themselves quite differently.
