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In the darkening room I sit alone,
While the clock keeps ticking endlessly,
And its steady tick-tock monotone
Beats with even regularity.
Every day the clock shows us that one
Of her hours twelve will us escort
Like a stern and watchful chaperon
Takes her wayward charges into port.
Clocks know naught of partiality,
Tick-tock, tick-tock on without detours,
port -bound pressing they accompany
Swiftly fleeing hours, mine and yours.
Clocks are stable, fixed, aloof and steady,
Evenhanded and indifferent;
Lo! - they never ask if we are ready
Feel upbeat or feel discouragement..
Without pause the hours tick away,
Even, humdrum, and monotonous,
Ticking ceaselessly by night and day,
Tick-tock hints of transitoriness
Yet some day the clock for us stands still,
Clock hands at a summons point: “retreat!”
In deference to the Almighty’s will
And we are from time and hours freed.
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