The sun will ring with flower bells
when graciousness grows wild.
Yet sun and wind bring restlessness
upon a lonely child.

The sand will ring with salt and foam
where shore and ocean chime.
Yet every wave that washed before
are memories of time

The twilight bells are glistening
so high on thrones of grace.
Yet nothing fills the evening sky
but emptiness and space.

What waits beyond the starlit shore?
Oh death perhaps could tell,
If I could take another breath
beyond the final knell.

At harvest time the tasseled seeds
abundantly will bend
and lose their seed in poverty
as song upon the wind.

As long as bells can sound their tones
beginnings will survive.
And every time I hear them ring
I know I am alive.