Trudging the path between the yew trees,
Those harbingers of death and sorrow,
Monks’ bare feet crush the dross of berries,
Poisonous, red froth between their toes.
Psittacism of holy mantras
Below the prickle of green branches
Drowns out the twittering of sparrows,
The songs of blackbird, thrush and finches.
The dull clapper of the chapel bell
Summons them inward at end of day,
When melodic voices pour and swell
From respectful prayer to joyous praise.
Kim M. Russell, 2017
My response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #138 “January 16th, 2016”
writing in north norfolk 
So beautiful… I love the last line and the blend of the chants and the bird sounds. Lovely image!
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Thank you!
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Powerful. Persuasive. Beautiful!
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Thank you!
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Absolutely wonderful.
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Thank you, Lorraine.
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The dull clapper of the chapel bell
Summons them inward at end of day,
Gives the feeling of the regulated and faithful life manners of the holy order all too well, Kim!
Hank
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Thank you, Hank. I once visited a monastery in Italy and was amazed at the tranquillity in a hive of productivity. I love the sound of bells. .
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