I hear the tinkle of a tiny bell,

And sounds of arrows shooting from a bow,

As choirs of angels sing, and all is well.

​

When colours fade to greyscale and repel

To form an indistinct imbroglio,

I hear the tinkle of a tiny bell.

​

Abundant thoughts, as sweet as caramel,

Conspire to craft an iridescent glow,

As choirs of angels sing, and all is well.

​

When inspiration’s needed to propel

My words upon the page in embryo,

I hear the tinkle of a tiny bell.

​

Vicarious sublime ideas swell,

Articulate and vibrant musings flow,

As choirs of angels sing, and all is well.

​

What sound might culminate this magic spell

While basking in euphonious afterglow?

I hear the tinkle of a tiny bell,

As choirs of angels sing, and all is well.