Day 22..a person addressed as an inanimate object

 To me, you are full peal,

the tintinnabulation.
You are the bell, my bell

You tilt and pour out sound
You knock the sides at funerals
You call them to account

You are the canons, and the crown,
the neck and dome,
the cold, curved shoulder

The thickness of the waist,
the etiquette of sound bow,
the lip, the mouth, the tongue clapper

You yoke in echoes
You vibrate and resonate
You send out sounds in waves

There are times when they will come
with rag and fur and silence
to mute the sound of you

Ignore those campanologists,
their pulling of the rope,
the gatherings of eight, ringing the changes

One day, you'll call again,
metal on metal, the strike and shush,
all ritual, rung magic

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