I’ve been pondering writing a poem over the last few days.
Inspiration struck today as I replaced the
battery in the clock in the hall. Not an
easy task as it has to be unscrewed from the wall which means finding the
correct screwdriver first.
The clock must have stopped sometime in November. As I recall it was not long after I had
lifted it down from the wall to change it from BST to GMT - so annoying!
Refitting the battery has taken more than a few days, I had
to find the right battery too, but I see it as an act of boldness, the clock
may have stopped last November and my world may have appeared to end the November
before but time moves on.
The clock, tick,
ticking
Telling time
A minute - yours
An hour - mine
Your time has passed
No more tick, tock
The hands stopped
On your railway clock
The trains sit silent
On the tracks
Departed
Never coming back
The dust it settles
Still and soft
Laid out upon
Your precious loft
Rooms devoid
Of noise and laughter
Cold
No Happy Ever After
I wind the hands
Reset the time
Your minutes’ gone
What’s left is mine
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