| |
The Temple Bell is rung
calling the Sangha
Murmuring.
Tinkling piano in the Honda,
Smell of burning incense
while all assemble.
The twice struck gong -
Ringing with Reverberations
like the dropping of a stone
into a water-pool.
The waves come and go
expressing impermanence
and fading into emptiness,
blending with the silence of the Sangha
The Service Chairman speaks-
And we fly,
Singing, Chanting, Responding,
Hearing the Talk.
And comes the close
with “Announcements? ”,
“New people? ”
Tea.
What a joyous gathering!
We talk; we are connected.
Fred Babbin
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend