Seth Thomas Clock Ticking
By ice rivers
I wrote this morning until five to four
On the ornate hands of Seth Thomas clock,
I could have stayed up and written some more,
Instead hit the rack then slept like a rock,
After counting syllables like blessings.
When I start this rhythm, it's hard to stop
Even after I finish undressing
I continue to pentameter shop
Tapping my pillow from one until ten
Adding percussion to dreams and deep waves.
Then I lose the meter and start again
Like when I was young, like when I was brave.
Wooden spoons were for more than mere licking
I took the talks and still kept on ticking