The Clock
The clock in the hallway
Is the grandfather kind
With carvings and gongs
And a key that you wind
The hands reach for numbers
On opposite ends
Stuck at the time when the haunting begins
To the last of the day you open the curtain
Things will be fine
Of that you are certain
You move through the rooms
Feeling at home
No longer afraid
Though you’re never alone
But as the sun sinks
Burns down like a wick
The clock in the hall is
Beginning to tick
