Bells- Sycamore

Here we are, the bells are ringing.

Not a single bird is singing.

My heart is gone, it feels unreal-

It had been too easy for you to steal.

The last time I had heard this sound,

Before we were separated by frozen ground,

You were alight, impossibly bright,

For I, an impossibly bittersweet sight. 

Here you were, this very place,

But in satin, tulle and intricate lace.

When you glanced up, and happened to see-

The doubt in your eyes was because of me.

I remained quiet, though my grief was loud,

And, like now, disappeared into the crowd. 

The End

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