The Cracked Bell Poem by Reva Kern

It is bitter and soft, during the winter nights
Listen, near the fire that flickers and smokes
The distant memories slowly rise
To the clang of bells that sing out in the fog.

The very happy bell with the powerful throat
Which, despite its age, alert and carries well
Faithfully clamors its religious declaration
As well as an old soldier who watches under his tent.

I, my soul is damaged, and when it is bored
She wishes her songs to fill the cold night air
It arrives often that weak voice

Sounding like the thick groan of a forgotten wounded one
At the edge of a lake of blood
Under a large pile of dead
And who dies, without moving, in enormous efforts.