An Hourglass
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The hourglass sat on the mantelpiece,
Over a dead fireplace.
Its sand had long settled
In the lower globe of the glass.
The miser and the fire were both dead,
The wake followed suit.
No one was invited, no eatables or drinks.
A dreary affair.
Yet so final,
Like the hourglass.
It's inertia spelled his death.
The unpaid solicitor finished his stock taking
But kept the hourglass for himself.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2022
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