As the sands flow
down through the glass,
Keeping pace with the
hours past,
The clocks tick on
the wall,
In the room and up the hall,
The bird in its house is waiting to spring,
Ready to burst out its musical ring,
As shadows sweep back and forth,
Forever staying on
their own slow course,
They are cursed with
the spell,
They cannot linger or
dwell,
Never stopping,
Forever clocking,
Trapped in its rhyme
Until
The
End
Of
time.
"They cannot linger or dwell"
ReplyDeleteThis is simple but intriguing.