His face fell as he got up and walked in front of silent waiting:
Broke the news of his departing, in his face was grieving wailing.
As he spoke, his hands were wringing
What, to him, was death's bell sounding.
But funeral bells don't sound so sweet,
Just empty clang and shuffling feet
Of mourners passing by
A stiff now wrapped in suit and tie.
No, the bell he rang was perhaps
A tad too high a key for taps.
He rang a reveille and morning call
For yet another day for all
So, when you think the bells are tolling,
Perhaps they ring a joyful peeling.
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