There were no church bells on the day,
Save for the sound of muffled chimes
From the nearby parish clock.
Instead the balmy summer air
Rang with the sound of a union:
The faith of this one-time congregation.
The flies and wasps duly rise,
Made milder, somehow, by conversation
That blooms in the haze of acquaintance.
Then I watch as childhood friends,
Who glow amongst the average folk,
Transcend beyond our younger days.
Softer faces smile beneath the suit
Of grown-upness, tried on,
And slowly filled as they share
Their promises, with gutsy sincerity.
Then the shameless egoist in me
Is warmed by the fleeting thought
That they sail away with some piece of us
That echos in an idle reminiscence
As tender interludes to their forever.
Uncultured Review 