My Grandfather Clock – a poem


My grandfather’s grandfather clock,
Thirty decades of tick tock, tick tock,
He and I together for fifty years,
A separation would bring me tears.
Pulsating heart regular going,
Brass pendulum to-ing and fro-ing.

Three hundred and sixty beats of time,
Then for the hour, a sliver chime.
Seven feet of walnut veneer case
Seraphs carved onto his shiny face.
His slender minute and hour hands,
Pointing precise their indexing wands.

In Queen Anne’s reign he had his birth,
That’s when he began to show his worth.
Maker Bradley sired his sib at St Paul’s,
But my clock did his work in men’s halls.
Moon faces revolve to tell the tide,
Fording the Thames, such a useful guide.

Weekly I open his glass case,
To push a key into his face.
Gentle, gentle I am kind,
Yet he sobs and sighs as I wind.
I check to see nothing is wrong
Life blood of families here and gone

As I pass by him, my hand I glide,
To wistful, touch his sleek glowing side.
Glance at his face, the time to tell,
Confirming moments I know so well.
Alone, a child I’d quietly lie,
And count when the long hours pass’d by

He is not a recorder or judge
He keeps no inventory or grudge
Time pulsating by in clicks and gongs
Time akin to the beat of men’s songs
Time paced towards death, an end for me
I hope he ticks on for eternity.