SOUNDING OUT 

Clock face 'n' time watch,
Sounding out,
Sounding over,
Tree tops 'n' Church Tower,
Stood tall,
Stood proud,
Stood touching the Skies,
Heaving Hooves 'n' Hounds
On a dull grey day,
When Baptising the Few,
A Saltier flew,
Cutting the hands of the Thieves,
That were tied,
On a blood red carpet,
To boot, to boot,

Whilst below,
Roofs tumbled in on Hooves 'n' Hound,
And Cobbled Market Stones,
Where alms had been scattered,
Two a-penny,
And maybe more, more,
Like crumbs on the cobbles,
Leavin' the Cock to catch the wind,
 The wind,

And so the People would drink at The Tree,
A well of choice,
Between three Men and a Bush,
And a Pint,
Even for the likes of Father Richard,
Dressed in the costume of a Clown,
Whilst whipping the dirt from his hands
Leavin' the Cock to catch the wind.

As the rain drops danced,
In service of the living,
When mingling with mourners,
Like some unwelcome guest,
Desorbing the harvest,
Leavin' Cock to the wind,
Beneath our setting Sun. (Stratton, N. Cornwall.2000)