THE CLOCK HANDS MOVE FORWARD

BUT ONLY FOR THE LIVING

By Josie Whitehead www.whiteheadm.co.uk

 It's so very still and peaceful
In this lovely village churchyard -
Flower filled - flower replete -
Undisturbed yet quite complete.

People tend the graves of the dead;
Families together clipping the grass.
Tending the flowers, speaking in low tones.
Do not wake the sleepers!

There's love for this quiet churchyard -
See - new life - thousands of daffodils!
The clock in the belfry strikes four -
But only for the living do clock hands move.

Above the graves in sunlight warm
They speak in hushed tones again -
Lest they should wake the dead
And then have to explain their doings.

Away from the graves, what memories?
What days of delight remembered?
What joyful occasions, sad times together?
Lives of the living - lives of the dead.

But look - it is the grave of a small child -
A small boy who grew not to fruition.
A small child who knew not manhood -
Or fatherhood, but  cheated of life on earth.

This churchyard twixt river and hills -
Tears fall, hearts break but birds sing.
Time does not heal the hearts of the mourners
Yet the clock hands move on for the living -

Tick tock Tick tock Tick . . . . . to eternity

Copyright 2007