Grandfather’s Clock

I remember

Running through streams and stepping over twisty ripples

One mossy rock at a time,

The thin hands on the grandfather clock

Ticked and tocked and stopped momentarily

Allowing our laughs and screams of joy

Time to spread through the trees and bramble,

And the sunlight to dance on our dreams.

 

I’m older now and recall,

Such happy moments, golden times.

They pierce the hard days and drudgery

Of this horrid world

When the same thin hands on the grandfather clock

Never seems to stop,

To let the same old sun come into my dreams.

 

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Categories: Blog, Poetry, Uncategorized

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