Poem -
The flying clock
My clock is
asleep
it no
longer strikes,
it has quite surely
abandoned
all
time.
The ticking has
stopped
and it's
alarm
is silent.
It's hands tired and
unwound
in permanent
retirement.
My clock
is now
flying
thru the air
in a
rage.
Perhaps
a rooster
I will now get
in it's
place?
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Comments
Very nice very nice
Thanks for reading
and your kind comments.