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
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
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