A silent spring wood
a place well hidden from all
a leaf chased by wind
a cloud of sparrows startle
still a peace remains
the dream is quiet for now
a slow drifting boat
barely raising a ripple
the sun sinking low
throwing down long dark shadows
then from the distance
there comes the sound of the bell
as the dream stretches
effortlessly rolls over
reveals a dark face
fear rides in on a cold wind
the bell seems closer
I cannot awaken yet
I cannot recall
and I do not wish to know
I dread the quiet
yet I pull it close to me
thirsting for silence
I die a little more inside
and strain to hear the bell toll
© Ann Bagnall

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