Old Tower Clock
A glint of sunlight from its prismed face
Catches the eye of the weary beholder,
For years occupying a hallowed space
The old tower clock still chimes bolder,
Stolid guardian marking time and place
As hours pass slowly in the marketplace.
It clearly tolls and lonely, too, at midnight
When townfolks are at home sound asleep,
Year after year its appointed hour’s respite
A time to live, a time to die, tolling complete
Seeming to know the proper tonality
When pealing for one's funereal finality.
Written September 20, 2022
Copyright © L Milton Hankins | Year Posted 2022
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