Every room in my house has a clock.
Only one has ever stopped.
They chronicle a life that is ebbing away,
A family history that is here to stay.

There is the clock that ticked off the hours
The times when my children were born.
One a clock whose china base holds flowers
And one with a face that is torn.

The grandfather clock in the hallway that chimed
Giving away the hour they came home.
A clock in the parlor that would ever remind
Me of the home they have always known.

But the clock that stopped when I was told
My soldier son gave his life for his friend.
Will never be wound now that I’m old.
But the others will tick to the end.

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