The Abandoned Clock

The clock stands silent, its hands frozen in space,

A monument to moments, etched on life's long race.

The pendulum hangs still, no tick, no tock,

A reminder that time waits for no one's walk.

Dust motes dance in the pale afternoon sun,

On gears and springs, where once the hours would run.

Each Roman numeral, a silent plea,

To rewind, to recapture, what used to be.

But memories linger, whispers in the air,

Of laughter shared, moments beyond compare.

The clock may stand still, but life moves on still,

Carrying lessons learned, over each passing hill.

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