Of the hands forever passing
Stand still and quiver
With minute pulses pulsing.
The defined gentle off-tick
Is unable to be heard
Hours that went in whispers
Now pass without a word.
Until it can be lit again
And keep the time so well
It has to stay quiet "hush!"
Until pulled out of its spell.
Brittany Coffey, Nov 1999
Ahh, that almost made me teary! I can't believe I got the book in 1977!
ReplyDeleteI like your poem! It reminds me of the song "My Grandfather's Clock" that I sang in elementary school.."and the clock stopped, never to go again when the old man died." Why did your clock in the poem stop?