The Metronome
The Metronome
The metronome spilt its last sound
like lead dropped on dark clay
never to be picked up again
where once it beat in rain in sun
and his hospital bed scented
with an air of gentle hands
with sounds of gentleness
we all whispered behind soft lips
of times without end
distracted from the present
before the metronome spilt it's last drop
like lead dropped on stiff clay
no click no clock
where once it beat and beat
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