The Winter Clock

As winter draws nearer and nearer, my mind turns more frequently to symbols and metaphors that are associated with this time of year. In keeping with a past theme, that of age, I have written yet another poem dealing with aspects of time and aging. I attempted to add more word pictures to this one. Keep a look out for symbols and metaphors. As always, I hope you enjoy reading it!


The Winter Clock

Tick, tick, tock of the hallway clock,
The chime strikes ten and it doubles round again.
The stars glow bright in the icy winter night
While the moons wax pale on the bitter northern gale.

Two moons rise in the blackened eastern skies.
One sails high as the snow now billows by
While its sister crawls under frozen winter falls,
Her heart grown cold in the lifeless river’s fold.

Tick, tick, tock of the merry-weather clock,
It threads its seams through my distant winter dreams,
Doubling round at the long-lost happy sound
Of a child’s glee, and that little one is me.

Green fields glow in my mem’ries long ago
As the river winds its way to deeps of many kinds.
The zephyr breeze dances by with open ease
As the song-fowl sing of the winter now to bring.

Tick, tick, tock of the hallway clock,
The chime strikes three and it echoes down to me.
I turn my face to the distant open space
In the window’s frame. The frozen landscape stays the same.

But still there stands in the snowy winter sands
The bone-bare frame of the oak of tow’ring fame.
The fields lie bare and no song-fowl gather there
While the river’s flow, it was staunched so long ago.

Tick, tick, tock of the age-old clock,
The chime strikes four, youthful as the age before.
Its deep-voiced call echoes down the empty hall
And distant drones through the walls of winter home.

The muffled chime, it now marks the frozen time
For the rose bud red, still alive though seeming dead,
Its youthful face sealed inside an icy case,
Filled with gloom, young but never still to bloom.

Tick, tick, tock of the hallway clock,
I close my eyes as the world beyond me dies.
My years long spent where I’ll go and where I’ve went,
Young inside, time-encased, will always hide.


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