The Day the Chapel Bells Rang

Mary Naylor  confirmed
Spring, twolite, twolou, the birds sang,
Spring, a seedling pushed through the earth,
Spring, the old bullfrog grinned and twanged,
Spring a time of hope, joy and mirth.

"Dang that no good cat!
I'll teach her to have kittens here."
He kicked and chased them with his hat.
A small girl watched, shaking with fear.

One tiny kitten escaped
And staggered towards the little girl,
Bleeding and full of cuts and scrapes,
His fur was matted and gnarled with burrs.

"I know there's one more," he howled.
She tucked him in her Easter basket.
The man glared at her. The basket meowed.
"Give me that kitten now, blast it!"

He chased her into the dense woods.
She ran to the old chapel made of stone.
Unused for many years, it still stood.
Terrified she crept in, and moaned.

She hid in the deep shadows,
Petting the kitten softly.
Dimly, light streamed in the stained glass windows.
"Where are you, you brat!" he shouted hoarsely.

In the still room, something creaked.
They both froze. "What was that," he asked.
A fragrance of incense filled the air. He shrieked!
"There ain't supposed to be nothin' here," he gasped.

Suddenly the chapel bells bellowed.
"Those bells haven't rung for years!"
Light began to fill the chapel, soft, mellow
He fell and screamed, "I'm gettin outta here!"

"Are you and your kitten all right?"
A man asked, dressed in a brown robe and hood.
I'm afraid you had quite a fright."
He smiled at her quietly from where he stood.

"Did you make all those things happen?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I did," he laughed.
"I'm the caretaker. I test things and mend.
Also, I plan to put in some flowers and grass.

Easter night, she and her mother talked,
About what had happened that day,
As they washed the kitten clean and soft.
"That couldn't have happened - no way!

"You must have had a dream by the chapel, dear.
The church is locked with no power or lights.
There's no caretaker that keeps things bright,
And the bells haven't rung in a hundred years!"

Spring, twolit, twolou, the birds sang,
Spring, people could not believe their ears,
Spring, breezes played and the Chapel bells rang,
Bells that hadn't been heard in over a hundred years!

Published by Mary Naylor confirmed

I was born in Chicago, Illinois in 1933. I grew up in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, a wild and beautiful state, rich in literature and lore. I loved the stories of Paul Bunyon and his ox, Babe. The hoax of t...  View profile

2 Comments

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  • Marie Lowe4/24/2009

    I'm not a poem person, but that one got me. Thanks.

  • Lisa Renee.4/12/2009

    I really enjoyed this.

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