Bells are sounding on the ocean floor
Calling en-masse quietened voices,
Though grumbling feet pass with heavy countenance
Through every remembered door.
Bells ring out sounding forlorn:
The remembrance of a past unshorn;
Life now swelling into mists of time
Scrambling as naked countenance looks on.
Because it is here, this taste will stay
An end to pondering,
An end to wandering.
Should these ends meet,
Driving sand into studied toes
And gathering gulls into a flock of followers,
Bells will ring out overhead
To remind a sullen face
Of the debt owed to paper thoughts
Stranded on the ocean floor.