I walked past the bell-tower last eve’n as I headed home
that day, for I wanted to see its princely walls
now covered in moss and hear it as it chimed the day
as it often does. The quiet becomes that ancient scene, as beauty
becomes one as fair; for in the silent, sleeping, shifting town I long
for the clustered, solitary solace I find there.
Just in time, the bells chime out and echo across the square
the same song it sang ere one hour, the same that then follows…
A friend, this is, if there were e’er a friend, for
as friends often do - this bell-tower does not change:
to me, its faithful, ever true.
- J. P. Antonios