My cup of youth has long been drained
No spigot fills its begging bowl
Time trickles free, unrestrained
In tick-tocking clock-cajole
Oh, I have held up to the air
Selfish hope for miracles
Time favors not, neither compares
In tick-tocking canticles
Adoration of an hour
Or reflection in its glass
Falls prey to the tick-tock power
Where tidings of summer pass
Common courtesy of clocks
Flings us far and brings us home
Subtle is that sea of locks
In its tick-tock metronome
No one can escape its splurge
We must all its free-fall brave
Ever forward ‘neath the surge
Of time’s tick-tock to the grave
Yet this ever-chanting rote
Mantled in tick-tock facade
Spills and fills each moment-note
With breath-gift from loving God
© Janet Martin
(unexpected day off) The boys I baby-sit are sick…it is so
quiet, the only sound (between noisy traffic) is the drip of a tap and the tick
of the clock…
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