Time On My Hands

Some fellers like to sit around and sip bourbon on the rocks. I prefer to sit around admiring my collection of old clocks. At last count I reckon they number about seventy-five or so. Much to the chagrin of my spouse, the number continues to grow! I just can't pass up a bargain at the local antique store. I suppose I'm like that old horse heading for the barn door. When I spot a lonely beauty displayed there by its self, I feel sorry for it and take it home to display on a shelf! My den looks like a museum with clocks of every pedigree. There are wall, mantel and cuckoo clocks staring back at me! Even a grandfather clock stands against the far wall, Made of solid oak and rising nearly seven feet tall! Nigh on forty years ago my interest in antique clocks began. Some are from from Germany, England and a few from Japan. Do they all chime and clang at once you may rightly ask? No - to keep them all wound would be an onerous task! The chimes, bongs and cuckoos the old clocks emit, Would surely drive one insane, I would readily admit! 'Twould be lonely around here, though, sans those friendly faces, And their graceful, sweeping hands and ornate wooden cases! Entry for Julie Leigh Rodeheaver's "Hobbies" Contest (21 February 2019)