Copse Chime

(This short poem is on an incident in Cambridge, near the University Library. It was the night of 2nd February when on a trip back from my department to my residence, on a forlorn road, I heard the distinct ringing of what seemed like small bells coming from a copse, a collection of trees, where there seemed to be not one bell even. This went on for quite some time, as one could listen to the clear, periodic ringing of the ‘bells’ in the breeze. Not that one need take anything out of the incident, but it makes for a good setting for a small poem…surely)

The copse chimes,


trinkety trunk,

like silver fangs

piercing into the ebony,

the sound seeps

soft; joy,

the wind keeps.



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