The Magic Bells


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

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