The Grandfather ClockA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe
old Tudor house was half-timbered and gaunt, Was
gloomy and dim in the hall, And
time had stood still, since my father was born, In
the clock that had stood by the wall. Its
pendulum hung, never making a sound I’d
never so much heard it chime, But
then, on the day that my Dad passed away, Its
tick had begun to keep time. My
mother was dead and my father was gone, The
half-timbered house passed to me, I
wandered its passages, sad and distraught, As
lonely as one man could be! I’d
sit in the lounge and I’d read by a lamp With
the rest of the house cloaked in gloom, And
heard the dread tick of that grandfather clock As
it echoed in time through the room! Each
tick was a portent, the passing of life, Each
tock brought me nearer to death, I’d
listen for noises, the timber that creaked, Sit
terrified, holding my breath! The
warm summer showers pit-pattered the thatch, The
wind would sough-sough at the eaves, And
summer passed quickly to autumn that year In
a thick golden carpet of leaves. I
never once wound up that grandfather clock, I
waited for it to wind down, But
like a tap dripping, it never would stop I
felt I was starting to drown. I
found in the library’s masses of books An
ancient collection of tomes, And
one that was covered in leather, I looked, And
read, and I wished that I’d known! Sir
Richard FitzWalter had lived in that house, And
he it was, ordered the clock, He’d
fought against Cromwell for Charlie the First ‘Til
Charles lost his head on the block! He’d
fled to the country, was caught in the house, And
hanged on the tree by the gate, His
wife, Lady Mary, had begged for his life But
the Roundheads had jeered: ‘You’re too late!’ She
left them, went sobbing back into the hall And
she clung to the grandfather clock, But
just as her husband, his heart ceased to beat, She
heard that the ticking had stopped. That
clock never ran for the rest of her life, But
showed just a quarter to four, The
time that Sir Richard was pinioned and hung At
the gate, on the tree by his door. The
clock began ticking when Mary had died, Had
taken her grief to the grave, And
each generation it stopped or began When
the master was born, or was saved! I
knew then the clock had been ticking for me And
I wanted it never to stop, I’d
wake in the night and I’d tremble to hear If
my heart was still pounding, or not. Then
one winter’s night I was restless, and rose From
my sleep, and walked down to the hall, A
Cavalier soldier stood facing the clock, Adjusting
the pendulum pawl; Resetting
the weights on that grandfather clock So
my heart would continue to beat, From
that time to this, I have lived here content While
Sir Richard returns as I sleep. David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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