The Death of Grandfather Clock
I am quite annoyed by the ticking,
or perhaps it's called 'tocking,'
by the ever-present clicking
in a language known as 'clocking.'
Must Grandfather Time command my life?
He so rudely continues without a thought
that his hammering rhythm of strife
mocks the pulse of my human heart.
What a wild fantasy my life would be
to exist without his relentless beat.
If time could but stand still for me,
the silence would be so sweet.
In solace of night I close my eyes
and seek escape from earthly chore.
I cannot find a tranquil paradise
for his gong peals out once more.
Each quarter hour he calls to me
as if singing a monotonous song.
But his tune is never a rhapsody.
Incessant verses are much too long.
I am eager to stop his wagging tongue
and shackle the swing of his pendulum.
Each hour would then go by unsung.
At last he'd know his time had come.
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