Morning Song

Morning song

Washing Machine rumbles

Towards its spin mode high-speed tumble

Sunday morning chores.

Vacuum cleaner and mop on squeaky the floors.

Windows thrown open wide

Outdoor sounds drift inside

Spring cleaning

Morning sun, glass gleaming

Below a spade is doggedly dug

A Wheel barrow shook to free its mud

With a grunt and a little wheezing

Earth is turned. Strong sunlight? Some sneezing

Flower beds being prepared

A wife’s voice compliments, clinking cups of tea shared

As the washing machine falls silent, end of it cycle

The bells peel out from steeple of St Michael

Ringing loud and clear, so very near

I stop. Listen. Retune my ear

In the garden of grunting and digging

Of the splish splash of a water feature and tea swigging

There is a Silver Birch as high as my cill

Where Chaffinch, Yellow Hammer and Sparrow trill

Tweeting and chirping, warbling loud and strong

Joining in with sharp metallic clang of the call to morning song

While feet echo off stone wall

Of the faithful head to the bells call

 I sit here and muse on the sweetness of sound

And praise god for the simple joy I have found

By Dibs