The minute hand

There he walks, cane in hand,

Unaware the memory he provokes,

The bells they chime at six o’clock,

Twelve the minute hand strokes.

A religious ritual from back in the day

When the Catholics dominated the land,

Where this ceremonious ding dong

Takes her to, few do understand.

For as this minute hand comes,

Marking the end of the fifth hour,

This was the time he struck and

Redeemed his natural power.

So wrong it was upon this girl

The advantage that he took,

She hears the bells, transported

Back, her body scared and shook,

Oh how she wishes she had put a

Stop to letting him have all the power,

Maybe then she’d not be paralysed

When the minute had struck the hour.