Village life

The Church Bells

The church bells toll across the meadows,

 

SIgnifying the time;

 

A succession of musical chimes that people barely notice,


As they have become accustomed to the ringing.

 

The village is planted near a river,

 

In a valley where locals have dwelt for centuries,

 

Eating, living, worshipping and dying, 

 

Their descendants carrying on the name, year after year.

 

A village static but alive, surrounded by hills and ascending paths.

 

The church bells ring.

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The Village Gate

The gate stands by a field that leads down the slope to a river.

 

The gate opens with a creak, its wood rough after years of use.

 

From the gate, one can see the water, smooth, almost silent,

 

A steady stream that is always there,

 

A faithful friend, like the creaking gate.

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