Poem -
Hands of History
Ticking of the clock,
Which never wants to stop,
That steadily goes round,
Once up then always down.
Its story tells of time,
The memories that pass by,
Remembering long ago,
Forever to behold.
Clicking is their sound,
While children play around,
With never missing beat,
And never slow in speech.
An ending never told,
As ancient days of old,
For these will ever be,
The hands of history.
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Comments
Good write my friend!! As always! β‘ much love