trinkle tinkle ring says
the wind in the chime
singing through the trees
in the chapel of the pine
to the belfry tower
belling grumble rumble
chanting out their prayers
in baritone mumble
to the white steeple tall
one ringer all alone
on church in the vale
pulls his funeral tone
to glockenspiel in park
mazurka herky jerk
xylophone frilly trill
for dancers of clockwork
to the lady with harp
on a promenade pier
gently caressing strings
for little kids to hear
to children's kitchen band
on kazoo and oatmeal drum
and kleenex box fiddles
do loudly pluck and strum
to the bird in the tree
in our yard in her nest
tweets last post and chorus
as we all head in to rest
back round the music plays
full circle to the chime
it all begins and ends again
in our chapel of the pine
(picture is a gate-crasher at our nightly orchestral hijinks. But welcome none-the-less).
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