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Dec 2017
There sits the old-fashioned wall-clock
Elitist in what it’s allotted
Always watching over the flock
Never bit condescending spotted

It sees all the wickedness
But would never treat partial
Although it sees the kindness
It can be sometimes martial

But no matter the crime
It is always waiting
Counting forever time
Never innovating

Sometimes merciful, sometimes not
But adamantly, makes all rot
This poem is about a old family wall-clock. It’s very old, and precious to me. In this poem,  I am using it as a metaphor for death.
Theresa
Written by
Theresa  F
(F)   
152
   Lior Gavra
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