THE PRIEST CALLS THE NUN TO RING THE BELLS
I
am dying and cannot patch the walls.
Ring
the bells, ring the bells.
They
are dying and the land is weary.
The
sanctuary is hollow and empty;
The
nave with its vacant pews lies jutted like a lizard.
The
tower is hollow and blistered.
The
bells are hollow and dull.
I
hide in hollow walls,
My
soul, like a clapper, pounds them thinner.
Sarah,
Sarah,
Ring
the bells so that I may remember
The
eyes of youth turned toward the tower
To
hear the bells;
Their
tongues like clappers
Sang
the Angelus and the Magnificat.
But
they are old now and their head bent downward--
They
see only dust and think of death,
And
I, much older, am dying.
This
last day and take them down.
They
are dying and I am dying,
And
together we will rest;
They
will be my gravestone silent with the daisies
Swaying
in the breeze of dusk.
We
will rest together.
My
soul like a clapper
Bounced
within my hollow walls
Will rest.
I
am dying and cannot patch the walls.
Sarah,
ring the bells
This
last day.
The
land is weary of us both.
--
C.S. Cholas
1971, Durango,
Colorado
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