Ring the bells and ring them more

and know that they ring for more.

The birth of a new son, a baby has arrived

the death of an old man who lived long enough in spite.


The youth brings promise

the old brings decay,

and what can people do

but wait for that cold day?


Some pray,

some live in art.

They walk the halls and look upon the gold and silver

pictures formed long ago, far away.


I chose art

for in choosing art I get to see

the visions had long ago

on dark winten nights and bright summer morns.

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