He used to wind them
once a week.
A dark oak clock
on the mantlepiece
stands bleak
above an empty grate
once a source
of warmth and light.
There is a slight glow
from the clock
on his desk
made of gilded brass
a farewell gift
from his final post.
The grandfather clock
a valued antique
stands silent in the hall
no further chimes
no pendulum swings
hands don't move any more.
The only sound left
is the faintest tick
from a well-worn watch
with its military band
a familiar fixture on his wrist
I now hold it in my hand.
How Life Changes After A Loved One Dies
The Clocks Have All Stopped
©
Ann D. Stevenson
more by Ann D. Stevenson
Published by Family Friend Poems October 25, 2024 with permission of the Author.
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ABOUT THE POET:
Ann D. Stevenson only began writing after she retired, when she joined a Writing for Well-Being course. It was during a difficult time, as her husband had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She found writing very therapeutic, more especially poetry. It was a real boost to her morale when Family Friend Poems began publishing her...
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