Ringing bells, tied to the wings of a knight’s nightingale,
Is it the melody of the bells or fraught cry of that gale?
I wonder now, subduing the space amid spring and autumn
Ringing bells, reminiscing of the spring that is forgotten
So which is it, I wonder in delight and bewilderment
Is it autumn or the spring that has passed in wilderness?
Both – autumn and spring start with colors of glee,
But only one of them makes me sentinel as you flee,
I wonder now, in great puzzlement - is it autumn or is it spring?
Ringing bells, that is how I know of unveiling the colors to cling,
In great agony, I sit here still, drowning in the sunrise,
As the sun matches the colors of overflowing blood at rest,
Wherever it is, it still goes on – bamboozling between colors;
Ringing bells, take me to a doodling confusion of floral,
Disguise the colors of spring in the linen ruffles of autumn.