Up in the mountains of Bowland

 Where the ferrets and nighthawks abound,

 Stands a clock with only a minute hand

 Moving time onwards without making a sound

 Its seen many things in its lifetime

 Always taking events in its stride

 And each passing day is a dreamtime

 Outwardly content, but inside it cried

 Its gaze wanders over the mountains

 And wishing its minute hand would unwind

 To open Time's veiled curtains

 Location of the missing hour hand constantly on its mind

 Thoughts travelled to past distant places

 Reliving life's merry-go-round

 Reflecting on sights, sounds and faces

 Happy now as the hour hand was found.

~~~

©2005  The Wordsmith & The Rambler