Remembering the bells of St. Leonard’s Church.

 Hazy childhood dreams displayed upon me,

a jeweled smile at a priceless memory,

the past walks in – where I see,

Nanny at the fireside.

Warm Summer rays light the morning fire,

the warm morning flames drench the churches spire,

Church bells call – the village crier,

cooked breakfast when I wake.

A walk to the cemetery warm in June,

lay scented flowers alive in full bloom,

dead with death – before too soon,

living prayers on the graves.

This only exists alive in my mind,

and remains today the place where I find,

beloved blooms – left behind,

they wilt but never die.

St. Leonard’s bells call the village to prayers,

from deep in my heart they summon me there,

tears at my loss – all laid bare,

in the font of St. Leonard’s.