The Bell - poem

How solemn the death bell tolls

The mournful dirge how it rolls 

The birds have ceased their springtime song 

They take flight in hurried throng 

Tolls the bell once more again 

Thunderous it echoes o'er the glen 

Shakes the branch of the aspen tree 

And the daisies blooming in the lea 

The cedar trembles at the sound 

Not a living creature to be found 

All have fled the bell's harsh voice 

All but those who have no choice 

Rooted deep they cannot run 

Standing fast in the setting sun 

Tolls the bell one final time 

And returns the valley to sublime.