Winter Bells
The Jew did not go to his synagogue
To be flogged.
But it was solemn,
That church without bells.
He preferred the brightness of bells,
The mille fiori of vestments,
The voice of centuries
On the priestly gramophones.
It was the custom
For his rage against chaos
To abate on the way to church,
In regulations of his spirit.
How good life is, on the basis of propriety,
To be followed by a platter of capon!
Yet he kept promising himself
To go to Florida one of these days,
And in one of the little arrondissements
Of the sea there,
To give this further thought.
Created by
guccipiggy
Last modified
2006-01-26 03:04 AM
