The Temple Bell is rung <br />calling the Sangha <br />Murmuring. <br />Tinkling piano in the Honda, <br />Smell of burning incense <br />while all assemble. <br /> <br />The twice struck gong - <br />Ringing with Reverberations <br />like the dropping of a stone <br />into a water-pool. <br />The waves come and go <br />expressing impermanence <br />and fading into emptiness, <br />blending with the silence of the Sangha <br /> <br />The Service Chairman speaks- <br />And we fly, <br />Singing, Chanting, Responding, <br />Hearing the Talk. <br />And comes the close <br />with “Announcements? ”, <br />“New people? ” <br />Tea. <br />What a joyous gathering! <br />We talk; we are connected.<br /><br />Fred Babbin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-service-2/
