The Ribbons of the BellnSlipped her stockings straightnAnd fluttered to the choir belownAnd tied herself to the countertenornLeftmost in the frontmost row.nnI saw her path before she even fellnAnd that is why I stood beneath the bellnAnd from the bottom up,nIts details stark and doubtednIgnite an uproar in stained-glassnAnd sound the trumpets of vanitynWith knowledge of a monument erasednI'm the woodpecker on the chimneynDigging at the wrong stonenBut blithely shaking off an ordinary brownnThose faded feathers somersaulting low across the road