Papaw's Clock

Tock tick tock Take a look at the clock But it hasn’t made sense for years. Who are these people? Where was that room? That’s not how to tie a shoe! It’s time for bed… at 3:00 P.M. But its okay, can’t sleep anyway Cause you just keep waking up when there’s nothing to do awake. And the dreams I wonder about Are you back in your childhood? Can you run and play? Your brothers and sisters are young again, laugh with them And tell your jokes without stopping for help And I’ll laugh again, we’ll all laugh again If you could tell them apart from the mist that keeps clouding your head. Yep, that’s an oak, you still remember The trees will be the last to leave that proud mind I bet Don’t bother which variety, I’m delighted you know its an oak, does it matter If its Black, White, Southern Red, Pin, or the others you still know better than me I’m so glad you remember that tree Among the other things forgotten And your eyes, though old, were mischievous and caring Giving and sharing when I was younger That sharp wit and intellect always spellbound me then With that depth behind your pupils But now all I see is befuddled confusion Almost whimsical, at times, but so often Troubled, something almost remembered, something not quite grasped A joke not gotten, something seems amiss And those graying eyes speak of your heart as it lies Deeper in frustration, sadness, and oblivion But as you forget, the burden lightens your heart Till you feel what your mind dictates as real, and not The degeneration perception reveals. Tock tick tock My Papaw’s clocks need winding And some oil and binding Where the gears keep slipping and tripping and so slowly winding down Mark Burton Thursday, November 09, 2000, Midnight