At Christmastime we drink wine
To excess and dress
The tree in her finery.
But old Father Time
Has no liking for wine
And watches us all
From high on the wall.
At Christmastime
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Tag Archives: old father time
Musings on a Bleak December Day
On a cold December day
I stop
And suddenly become
Aware of the ticking clock.
The sun
Hides it’s face.
It will rain again today.
I will embrace
Old Father Time in rhyme.
I grow older
And sense his great hand
Waiting to land
On my bowing shoulders.
I must try
Not to waste time.
For the clock
Will, one day, … stop
In the End
I desire to retire
To a house with old clocks.
There my poor words
Would be inspired by birds
And the clock’s slow tick tock.
I would forget my regret
And get lost in fine rhyme.
Women and wine
Would distract my mind
From passing time.
Young women’s heels click.
Old clocks tick.
But all must stop
In the end,
However much we pretend
They do not.
Time’s Scythe
February is slipping away.
It is easy to say
I will act tomorrow,
But why not act today?
For each moment I borrow
And Time’s unyielding knife
Ends all joy and strife.
And none can say
When his scythe may fall.
But it must fall
And bring all to dust.
When my Busy Thoughts
When my busy thoughts
For a moment, stop,
I become aware
Of the clock
Ticking away my day.
I may turn away
And write.
But old Time
Will not delay
The night
To accommodate my rhyme.
On a Cold Autumn Day
On a cold autumn day
I find that time
Has stopped. But my clock
May be wound today.
Yet, one day
I will not
Know the day or time.
Passing Time
My clock chimes
On a spring day.
Women and wine
Are mine,
But my springtime
Has passed
And the fast
Tick tock
Of antique clocks
Appeals not
To girls in heels
Who do not
Feel their clock
Soon must stop.
Outside
Birds outside my window
Visit me today.
But they
Never stay.
Young women go
By on the street.
Their stilettoed feet
Tick tock like clocks.
And I rhyme
Of old Father Time
And clocks
That stop.
Today I Turned 53
Today I turned 53.
Shall I make free
With women and wine?
Or stick to rhyme?
Old Father Time
Stands behind me.
The feminine and wine
Can not conquer time.
There Once Was A Man Named Lyme
There once was a man named Lyme
Who, determined to conquer Old Father Time,
Covered up all the clocks
With his girlfriend’s new frocks.
And Old Father Time laughed at Lyme.
K Morris - Poet 