-- WHEN THE CLOCK STRUCK THIRTEEN --

John Herlihy

I had just woken up when the clock struck five,

I nestled back into the blankets happy to be alive.

I woke up once again when the clock struck six,

Brushed sleep from my eyes, blew out the wicks.

Morning’s silence broken when the clock struck seven,

Birds flitted thru the garden looking every bit like heaven.

I dressed and ran downstairs when the clock struck eight,

Ready to enter the world and pass through life’s gate.

It was a bright, sunny day when the clock struck nine,

I still had my wits about me and I was still feeling fine.

I was already in my office when the clock struck ten,

Going about my business among many women and men.

I felt an uneasy premonition when the clock struck eleven,

As if the dream had become a nightmare instead of heaven.

I felt a false sense of security as the clock struck twelve,

As if I were about to be forced into a secret cave to delve.

Mist enfolded me as a shroud when the clock struck thirteen,

What in the world has happened, mystery I could only glean.

What could be so unlucky, thirteen strokes of doomsday’s chill,

The world finally finished, like saying good-bye, everything still.

I then waited ‘til the clock might strike another stroke of all I miss,

I awoke to hear the rustle of wind chimes that filled me with bliss.

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(c) John Herlihy 5 March 2019