Bells Of Barangay San Jose Poem

The bells of Barangay San Jose Rang against the din of the windblown rain Struck from bell towers from four directions The wet July weather deadened the tolling Unable to reverberate in the thick as soup fog Eager acolytes swinging on strong bell ropes Coaxing the brass cones to clang out loud The bells furiously called out the faithful at dawn Loud summons to attend the eucharistic celebration Nuns in white with colorful umbrellas stepped lively, Matrons with missals tucked in braided belts Waddled through the half opened seminary doors Rosary beads dangling, in quickened half steps Hurrying before the wet fog turns to cold rain A blessed Sunday morning in Barangay San Jose My love and I eavesdropped on the early birdsong Of hummingbirds atwitter on newly wakened yellow bells And red mayas chattering on undulating cogon blades The mellifluous sounds blending with the suffused peal Of brass bells hardly heard above the foggy veil An orderly chaos of diverse sounds melding in symphony We paused at our wooden gate to listen to the concert Disregarding the urgency of the muted ringing of bells A grand performance fit for kings was being played out At my very gate, heavenly sounds filling a misty morn All of a sudden a wave of baritone voices broke in song A robust Gregorian chant rode the fog within hearing The mass had started and to church we had to rush