The Glass Domed Clock

They sit inside a thin glass dome below the face of time. Four orbs upon a pedestal; all move in perfect rhyme. Some years ago their movement stopped, no longer to and fro. The pendulum ceased its swinging and refused to do the show. The clock continued ticking, keeping up with each new hour. The pendulum sat there sullen, still, encased within its tower. As time went on, I came to think that nothing much was wrong. I dismissed the lazy pendulum, while the clock ticked out its song. Then on a day some time ago, death came and stole a friend. Late winter thaw and she was gone - her stay here at its end. She left in haste with little time to ponder life or death; A weary, fluttering heartbeat and she drew her final breath. While sitting there inside this loss one early spring-like day; I pondered where my friend had gone and was she far away? Could she still share a smile with me, or worry for my cares: Then pause and sit a time with me, our days now free to share? And while I sat there musing, quite absorbed and lost in time; From out the corner of my eye, reflections on the blind. Back and forth, back and forth the movement seemed to go. Sunbeams through a window pane slid brightly to and fro. My eyes began to search the room for where the answer be. Reflections off the glass domed clock, its pendulum swinging free. The first time in a dozen years the orbs now did their rhyme, As back and forth they turned and twirled; I knew my friend was fine. And now the pendulum does its dance according to its will. Sometimes I find it swinging and sometimes I find it still. But when the movement catches me; I pause for just awhile. A word or two in greeting; then I move on with a smile. © 2015 Diane Lefebvre