Home-Town Sabbath

By

On Sunday mornings Seven belfries

Cleared their throats.

The air was shattered

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As pigeons scattered

In aimless flight.

When silence once more

Was resumed, the skies

Seemed suitably chastened.

Respective worshipers

Fared forth to pray and sing

And hear the truth proclaimed

In familiar ritual.

As for the other six

Churches, one had to admit

That seven bells set free

Commingled joyously

On Sunday mornings.

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