7 March 2026

By Philip Kuepper

O!, how the bells row
their ringing through the air,
each bell in its shell,
its tongue its oar.
O!, how they row their ringing
through the glass clear air,
without cracking bell, or glass.
After the storm, the sun
hangs a bright clarity,
causing glitter the snow.
And glitters like a ruby a cardinal,
its wings fluttering as it feeds
on scatterings of sunflower seeds.
O!, how the bells mellifluously ring
through the morning as they row,
their tongues at song,
singing simply to sing,
and causing my heart
take flight, joyously. O!
And with the glittering snow lying
under a sky, blue, immaculate,
ring the rowing bells awonder,
awonder there could be such beauty.

(24 February 2026)