Today’s Inktober is Ornate and that felt right for a sonnet. What am I doing to myself. We’ll try Petrarchan this time; ABBA ABBA CDC DCD.
Okay I have a topic guide and a structure, now I need something ornate and… the poem.
Segmented Time
The grandfather clock is ticking the time
It splits the days into minutes, hours;
Out in the front of the hall it towers,
Whispering “You live your days to my rhyme.”
Come hear its sonorous echoing chime;
See its etched moon and its sun and its flow’rs
Moved ’round the face by its pendulous pow’rs,
Ripening days from their youth to their prime.
So pass our days with the tick of the clock,
Times marked for work and for play and for sleep,
We must make time to relax and take stock.
Are we in gears and in cogwork too deep?
Can we push seconds and minutes to dock,
Lest we let clockwork become what we reap?
Intellectual Property of Elizabeth Doman
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