Poems

Meg Courtney Hawke: The Clockmaker

The Clockmaker A clock built with the biggest of hands (and the tiniest of instruments) Its gentle tock, tock, tock warm like his deep voice Big heart pounding like a pendulum Her tiny feet dangling above the floor as she rests her head on his chest He’d ask: Can you hear it? Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum Oh, there it is, she’d smile, her hand tapping the pattern on his leg: Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum Furrows creasing the corners of his face: You know, everyone’s has a different tune But she swats at him like a fly, Shhh, I’m trying to hear Now…

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