When the house is empty,

and silence stomps around the rooms,

I get out my father's gold watch,

now burnished with years.

.

I can see the bracelet stretch

to fit his wrist, and can hear

the old watch tick away his days.

.

His essence- a halo of sparks

ringing the face-knives of life

stabbing the air.

.

The thin black hands - glad to be

on the march again, proudly

sweep around the white face.

.

As he is enveloped by time ,

his smile comes to me once more,

for a chat with a loved one he left 

behind that Golden Door.

05/08/2006

Posted on 05/09/2006
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce