Sunday Service Poem by Fred Babbin

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.