The old clock sat staunchly in the corner,
with such a stalwart stance;
It rang out with every hour's time,
like a memory of ancients past.

The table set for five was stilled,
with dust and dirt piled high;
Each window in the yellowed kitchen,
was cracked from the cold outside.

A slate-gray sky hung overhead,
threatening the town with early snow;
a young man listened to the roaring wind,
And a tear fell from his eye.

He used to live in this broken place,
with his wife and children at his side;
But the crops were mighty thin this year,
to his family, he bid a sad goodbye.

Now what to do with these remnants,
of a loving life he had known;
A garbled prayer slipped past his lips,
while his heart turned into stone.

Yet memories have a certain way,
of stirring our fervent desires;
With the storm approaching quickly,
he set out to light a fire.

And within the flames he caught a glimpse,
of the force behind all his dreams;
Which lifted him from his sadness and grief,
and willed his soul to be redeemed.