The tolling of the steeple bell
From over yonder comes;
Beneath the trees, there lurks the smell
Of soft, fermenting plums.
My neighbour’s watering some plants;
It hasn’t rained in weeks.
And, on the grass, birds peck at ants,
With sharp, relentless beaks.
Although the world at large may seem
As varied as can be,
To those who’ve woken from that dream,
The truth is plain to see:
In essence, everything is known;
It’s only that and that alone.
Photo by Egor Vikhrev on Unsplash
