The Hands of Time

The Hands of Time

By Angela Hayes

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Oh I miss the tick-tock of the Grandfather Clock
That used to stand in the hall,
Regal and tall it welcomed us all,
And chimed every hour of the day.

Its capable hands patiently spanned,
Over each precious minute of time.
And all through the night
When all else was quiet
It steadily rang in each chime.

But life is all go now and there’s no steady pace
And this gentle giant seems a bit out of place
Now clocks come in all colours and shapes
But the grandfather clock
Has its own special place.