Tramping one by one
Along the church-yard path
Which bends and turns
Between the weathered headstones
Of long-neglected graves
Testament to forgotten souls
That trod this path before
Then around the nave and chancel
To the almost-hidden staircase
Harbouring narrow steps
Which twist and wind, well-trodden
Spiralling upward into the tower
To the musty ringing floor
Where ropes and sallies hang
Through the wooden ceiling
Concealed behind the clock
And now the heavy bells
Are rung slowly down
The tenor and the treble
And prepared for ringing
That practice may begin
Of methods and rounds
The changes and the hunting
The Bob and Grandsire Doubles
And the Quarter Peal
Aching arms
And brows of concentration
To get the timing right
And be ready for every occasion
Of morning service every Sunday
Or joyful summer Saturday weddings
Or the simple sombre tolling
Of a single funeral bell
That may happen on any day
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013
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