I call myself a bell-flower,
as you cannot hear my tremulous chime
and I am decorated in purple and blue blossoms
on the only home that holds me tight
though I still want to crawl out of it
and grow up in someone else’s

Through tight slits in wooden slats
I catch the three-legged wind chime
Which hangs by a thread from
An overhung roof, by the gutter.

The owl - whom keeps watch,
Double sided, double gazing
At the goings on in the garden and
Mirrored happenings on the wall -
Sits quietly at the centre of his universe
With knotted thoughts so intertwined
For years he has neglected
Or perhaps forgotten how to
Play the jingle resting on the breeze.

The legs which dangle from the
Moon with noisy knees have
Lost their tone or dulled to make
Their silent stand against my wanting ears -
A fitting punishment.

The only steps to stifle my regret are
Toward the watching eyes to
Shake the clapper;
Summoning a tempest to end an age
Of silence from the much too long
Forsaken keeper of the chime.

No wedding bells chimed louder
Nor laughter or evening caller
Not even the gold that sits around my finger.
Rings better than my name
With yours to finish it off.

I am the lonely chime at night
the one that gives you a fright
then you turn on a bright
light
and with all of your might you get out of bed
to check and see whats ahead
led down a dark and spooky hall way
the noise gets closer
and clearer
have you been looking for this or has it found you