The Magic Bells
swing
touching ripe
wheat ears in the fields,
gently stroke her
eyelashes,
surround them
with their delicate scent,
softly they
whisper and wonder.
The Magic Bells
swing
quietly awaken
the nature.
Streamlets tell
it to the meadows,
Winds kiss forests
and fields,
light day is
streaming.
The Magic Bells
swing
speak in mild
tones in every place,
always look for
where they find an echo
Faith opens to
faith
Ears open the
word.
A.M. Hosta
