The Clock

In the large cottage which is locked,

Lies a dusty and old clock.

The lights are broken and the water has dried,

Yet the clock keeps ticking all day and night.

Little Children come in and play, 

They throw the balls this and that way,

Breaking the flower pots and photo frame,

But still, the clock ticks all the same.

Many months have passed and the walls are weak,

The paint in the attic begins to leak,

The windows are so dusty you can barely see through,

Yet the clock ticks this time too.

The old woman who owns the cottage walks inside,

Shocked to see the condition of the fans and lights,

On the old clock, she sets her eyes on,

She whispers to herself ‘it’s not gone, it’s not gone

Not a day more than a decade has passed by,

On the ground, the old clock lies,

No more ticking like it did before,

But its bravery and loyalty we can’t ignore