CHIMES, by Ellouise Schoettler – 5 a New Poem
Today I notice the small collection
of green brass Chimes hanging from a black, failing limb of the tree which has held those chimes for 49 years.
After a few years we realized how fast the tree was growing because we had to stretch tall and reach up to make a sound - - - only the wind could stir a song.
I sit at my desk these days looking over my computer to where the chimes wiggle in the winds. In the beginning the chimes were bright green. Today they are all faded.
They never broke
They lost their color as they aged
But when the wind is tossing there is still a concert
And, I love it .
My only wish is that Jim was here
to hold my hand as we walk by.
