Poetry

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The following poem was written for a friend who grew up in West Alexandria, Ohio. May the Lord bless you, Robert, with many serene visits back to your home. May He bless your present dwelling place as well, giving you many safe returns.

Sunday morning bells ring in the call,
the Master's bidding to us all,
"Come, gather round,
to feast on the Bread,
the body of Christ."
And as such, we are led.

In the little town, things move slower.
Patience finds the four leaf clover.
Unity rings
with the sound of bells;
The streets come to life.
A robin's red breast swells.

Even the trees seem to breathe Him in
when bells ring out to call all men,
"Come, gather round,
to feast on the Bread,
the body of Christ."
And as such, we are led.

West Alexandria, home, sweet home,
why so far did I ever roam?
Nowhere on earth
is beauty akin
to yours, my sweet home,
but His presence therein.

Sunday morning bells chime in my heart,
no matter where my mornings start,
"Come, gather round,
to feast on the Bread,
the body of Christ."
And as such, I am led.
© Joyce Pool

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