Perhaps more in tune with a bye gone age when the church bells were the pocket watch of the rural community, here in Normadie most people start working early, break at mid day for a two/three hour lunch then continue with their toil till Seven-ish.
Inviting me to count the chimes so confirming each hour,
In the winter months the eighth strike and no sight of the dawning,
Though forcing me from my warm bed in the frost covered morning,
In the summertime when the sun rises long before four,
My slumber is broken each hour so I can laze abed no more,
I stagger from the clamminess-thanking god I am alive,
An early start to all my daily chores as the bell booms out five,
The collection most welcomed of the chimes is the twelve o'clock number,
For at midday I break for lunch and homewards do lumber,
A leisurely meal of bread and cheese then I have nothing to do,
I relax in my favourite chair with a glass of wine, till the bell tolls out two.
Working ceaselessly in the blazing sun whilst the birds they do sing,
So much work to do, my body weary now, I hear the seventh hour ring
Though tired from all my labouring, I've a spring in my pace,
For my work is done, no more bells I hear, at last a smile on my face.
Poetry by Albert
Read 641 times
Written on 2005-12-08 at 19:14
Tags Rural Work Leisure
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MAGNY'S church bells
The faraway resonation from MAGNY'S church tower,Inviting me to count the chimes so confirming each hour,
In the winter months the eighth strike and no sight of the dawning,
Though forcing me from my warm bed in the frost covered morning,
In the summertime when the sun rises long before four,
My slumber is broken each hour so I can laze abed no more,
I stagger from the clamminess-thanking god I am alive,
An early start to all my daily chores as the bell booms out five,
The collection most welcomed of the chimes is the twelve o'clock number,
For at midday I break for lunch and homewards do lumber,
A leisurely meal of bread and cheese then I have nothing to do,
I relax in my favourite chair with a glass of wine, till the bell tolls out two.
Working ceaselessly in the blazing sun whilst the birds they do sing,
So much work to do, my body weary now, I hear the seventh hour ring
Though tired from all my labouring, I've a spring in my pace,
For my work is done, no more bells I hear, at last a smile on my face.
Poetry by Albert
Read 641 times
Written on 2005-12-08 at 19:14
Tags Rural Work Leisure
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
