Town Hall Clock Poem by Paul Reed

Faintly, through the grey morning
I heard the chiming of the Town Hall clock
Distantly counting it's stock;

Feebly carried on the breeze
As if from another world
Whilst under blankets, toes curled;

The sonorous tone dispersed
In the mist and the miles between
Your lofty origin unseen;

Yet making it's threadbare connection
Over the streets' bricks and wood
From a place where I have often stood;

How often it is that we ignore
The understated notes, the little voices
But those in which the heart rejoices;

Peal out your timid contribution
Without fear of it's shy expressage
For I have heard your quiet message