The Hourglass Empty
A Taphophile Poem
They say she stared at a clock,
Instead of her mother’s face.
Gave the nurses quite the shock—
Newborn girl keeping pace.
The first word she spoke was ‘Time’,
Her second word was ‘Minute’.
All that soothed her was the chime—
Or the blinking of digits.
At six she counted backward,
Her mother inquired why.
Reached zero in the garden—
And watched their sweet old dog die.
As a teen she watched sand slip,
As grandfather passed away.
She saw his final grains drip—
And the hourglass fade away.
As a woman, crowds brought dread,
Each soul trailed its falling sand.
She saw doom above each head—
None of which she could command.
She fled lovers in her prime,
Their foretold ends made her weep.
Why surrender love to time—
When none were hers to keep?
When silver crept through her hair,
She sought what she’d always feared.
Her own glass was waiting there—
Yet not one grain had appeared.
All sands must someday descend,
But hers had no start nor end.