THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK
The old grandfather clock still stands in its place,
stood at the top of a creaking old staircase.
For a hundred years it has chimed out the hours,
sending its echo through those cold stone towers.
Deserted hallways shadowed in a timeless dark,
the empty banqueting hall standing silent and stark.
Cobwebs and dust shroud a time from long ago,
a gaping fireplace that has long lost its glow.
Those long faded velvet curtains hanging in pairs,
covering dirty windows hidden from stares.
Music and voices have long drifted on the storm,
waiting for that unholy hour to be reborn.
Perhaps tonight the old dusty clock with strike,
that thirteenth hour that fills you with fright.
As time slowly reaches that strange time of fear,
voices whisper and dark shadows suddenly appear.
The Grandfather clock rings out the midnight chime,
the mansion relaxes knowing that this is not the time.
Another night will break into the shadows of dawn,
leaving the music and voices to grieve and mourn.
Perhaps the hour of longing will come the next night,
when the thirteenth hour will echo far from sight.
The dance will continue in the flickering chandelier,
bringing back friends and love we hold most dear.