Jingle, Jangle  

Necklaces, bracelets, rings and things,

I jingle, jangle in the breeze.

Silver and crystal, antique and new,

ruby red to a bright topaz blue.

A wandering gypsy of previous life,

maybe a princess or a kings wife.

I wear my trinkets, they sing as I sway,

hear me coming and going away.



The bells used to jangle as the front door opened, it’s a sound I’ll always remember, a sound that said someone had walked through the door.

The wind chime that hung above the door was one of the last things I took from my mums house after she died. It hangs on my balcony now, rusted from the weather. It doesn’t really jangle anymore, lack of wind on my balcony, I’m not sure, but the jangle of the bells will always remind me of home.