The Clocks (A Poem of Auld Lang Syne)

NewYearsEveI miss the old clocks

which used to tick, tick, tick

away the moments

then send them away on waves

of forgetting.

I do not want these memories

of warm, golden rooms

filled with children playing and feasts

of laughter,

the clink of bubbling glasses and

midnight cheers

into the new morning.

Now the calendar is done, only

empty pages

thrown away without a send-off

and a clock that only stares back, unblinking

as my heavy heart recalls

our auld lang syne

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