My Old Alarm Clock

A metal shell, a face so plain, With numbers bold in sun or rain. The steady tick, a rhythmic beat, Announcing hours bitter or sweet. No gentle chimes, no subtle sound, But a jarring buzz that shook the ground. A sudden jolt, a rude embrace, Dragging us from sleep's soft space. We'd slap the top with sleepy hand, To silence its insistent command. A moment's peace, a hazy sigh, Before the day began to fly. That shrill alarm, a daily foe, Yet part of mornings long ago. A sound ingrained, a memory deep, From slumber's hold, it would us leap. Though digital screens now softly gleam, And wake us with a gentler dream, There's still a pang, a fleeting thought, Of that loud buzz the morning brought. The tick and buzz, a simple art, That played its necessary part. A noisy friend now left behind, A memory etched within our mind. ©bfa040725