Old Adobe Mission Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

There stands an old adobe mission
between two hills of ancient mold
the bell is weathered by harsh seasons
of searing heat and piercing cold

Who in that desert would approach it
what vagabond or hunted soul
would venture in that haunted landscape
of Native stories long foretold

Death lives beneath the sea of sand dunes
a testament to crimes untold
Whose leathered hand would dare to enter
the crumbling tower's sacred fold

Yet when the brutal sun is setting
and tumbleweeds slow down their roll
a clear and piercing bell starts ringing
its sound so pure and strong and bold

Some claim they saw a phantom shadow
approaching when the evening gold
descended on that crumbling mission
and rang the bell, so legend holds

None but the ones who died for freedom
whose hearts could not be bought or sold
could hear the pealing of that music
and by its sound at last paroled.