Tintinnabulum

The bell rings and Anna sings;
She sings of the life of clouds
And the span of conception
Distilled in the tears of God.

The bell rings and Anna sings:
There on the steps, echoes clothe her
And the Church's stone quickened
By the transcendence of song.

The bell rings and Anna sings:
Dust motes burn in the alchemy of stained glass,
Rays are sprays of feathers for the free
She sings of peace, the mystery of eternity

As the bell rings, Anna sings:
Such sweet and painful frailty
This, the song of humanity.
Ending, both voice and bell resonate
Fading... Just the memory of sound and
A moment where we briefly touched
With the raw and sanctified
Fingertips of the soul.