How loud the bells from our church steeple
Summon by technology the faithful people
For natural bells have long stayed silent
Cracked by years of strikes quite violent.
And locals gather on the village green
To walk their dogs, a joyful scene
Some buds already poking out
Suggest that Winter’s lost her clout.
Yet one’s not fooled by scenes less hoary
Winter still may hold more fury
Cold will strike the foolish unwrapped
And wind can make one’s face feel slapped.
These strange sweet days play year on year
In village life that’s calm and dear
So very lucky we therefore feel
To some perhaps it seems unreal.
Yet not too smug should one thus feel
At scenes as these that so appeal
For other places bear much strife
And so one feels blessed with this life.
©Joe Wilson – Community life…2018