The key to my clock
Is cold to my hand.
I can command
My old clock
To cease it’s chime.
But no rhyme stops
The sickle’s chop.
-
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The key to my clock
Is cold to my hand.
I can command
My old clock
To cease it’s chime.
But no rhyme stops
The sickle’s chop.
K Morris - Poet 
Deliciously dark!
Thank you!
time marches on. and takes us with it as it chooses. great poem
Indeed he does. I’m so pleased you like my poem.
Dark, Kevin, but we all need to take note of the passage of time.
Thank you, Vivienne. Indeed we do all need to take note of the passage of time. Best wishes. Kevin
Very meaningful, Kevin.
Thank you, Robbie