The night was dreadfully dreary, his body old and weary
In his bed did hear he— a sound so full of fright.
With bolt-upright attention, his breath held in suspension,
He sat in self-detention on the bed.
His eyes were wide, not seeing, while in the darkness being
Perplexed in fright from a sound heard in the night.
“Why did I awaken? Why am I so shaken?
Perhaps I am mistaken in my plight.
Did I hear someone calling? Was it something falling?
Falling in the night?
What’s more to my liking, if perhaps the clock was striking
Once on its bell, striking in the night.”
“Yes, that’s what I was hearing, ‘twas nothing to be fearing,
For once half-past it strikes.”
To the dark his eyes adjusted, his mind with dreams encrusted,
As silhouettes distrusted came into sight.
“What are my eyes now seeing? Is that a human being?
Or was I just hearing the clock that strikes?”
He lay back down to listen, dark shadows flit and glisten,
The moon was out of sight.
Now, not to his liking, the clock began to striking—
Twelve strokes at midnight!
With bolt-upright attention, his breath held in suspension
Once again he was filled with fright.
As he sat there staring, his thoughts were more ensnaring,
Not daring to sleep till morning light.
He pondered the aberration in a fit of trepidation
About the grandfather clock.
“Why my thoughts now bother, the clock died with Grandfather,
Forty years ago tonight!”
(Continued in Part 2)