"The clock of life is wound but onceand no man has the powerto know just when the clock will stopat late or early hour.This is the only time we own.Live, love, work with a will.Place no faith in tomorrow forthe clock may then be still."
My dad, now 90 years old, used to quote this old poem when he was preaching about the brevity and uncertainty of life. It truly speaks for itself, without my commentary. It holds sentimental meaning and deep truth for me.
The old clock, I inherited. It towers eight feet tall tall. Of rich walnut wood, it came from England and was made in the late 1700's, early 1800's. It, too, has sentimental value; I nursed all three babies while its heavy pendulum slowly swung back and forth -- as I sat alone in the home of my parents during quiet, early hours of the morning.
Life is so short. My mother is gone. My babies are grown, with children of their own. And the clock of life is wound but once ...
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2 comments:
Oh wow, this post really touched me! Love the poem, it's so deep and true. We get one shot at this moment, this minute, this hour, this day! And what a gorgeous collectible to pass on to your kids, along with the sentiment that rings out in this post. Love it!
:)
~Tabitha
Its like facing the person in the glass, you live with yourself all your life, you take you with you when you go and it helps to like the company you keep...words of my own father, now 96...our fathers are wise...
hugs
Sandi
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