Moon Lit Bell Towers. Poem by Michael Gale

Church bells ring my daily toil...
Upon this world, odd shaped sphere.

I ring out my own drowned out pour...
To sing to all, my at last, settled score.

To thine heart, unmended sore...
Brittled rapt, no more, no more.

Along the blank lit shores...
Moon beams forever shine,

Lonely heart and steel willed brine...
Lovely felt, that I dine.

Beneath this willow tree's splendore...
I bask aloof,

Ever tender.