Coffin Bell
       

Six feet up, my coffin bell
sings out a brassy jangle

in the graveyard. The groundskeeper
has gone home, nobody visits,

and though I think myself
a patient man, I've been ringing

long enough that in bare branches birds
are sharpening their beaks,

black eyes leveled at my string.

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Copyright © 2021 Andrew Bode-Lang All rights reserved
from The Greensboro Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission