The wizened old man of Wizpuri Dock
Had lifted hs eyes to his grandfather's clock
He gazed with a smile.... and pondered a while,
Then shook his grey fist at  the great  wooden block

He came "fourth in the mile", but hindered a while
For now he was old and decrepid and vile
Not a smile had he dared, for those who had stared
As he hobbled a while from Wizpuri Dock


He grasped his last breath, as he forcast his death
For the time he had guessed was more than his best
In time he had called for man and his lord
But dithered and croaked as he suffered a stroke

Fell to his old feet all laden with grief
Frail and defeated or  like a bloated graffitist
He looked at the time, hence grappled a smile
As he groveled and choked all bewildered and broke


He fell on his back  that had tumbled and cracked
And gazed at the clock from Wizpuri Dock
The clock it had struck...... without even a cluck
As the wiizened old man lay dead as a duck

Had he strived back in time and altered it's chime?
Then would he have died as he gazed at the time?
All tightened and torqued despite that he was short

Like the clock on the wall that cheated his fall
To alter it's chime from the clement of time?
That man should stay tall despite his great fall
Is to kindle the lines of the face on the dial?
As to tell it stop by a man at the dock

To lay dead at it's heel at  Wizpuri Dock!
But.... suffer the men who looks ill at their clock!
As nothing will move, and all  is still as a rock!
From ghosts that are born....from Wizpuri Dock.

What a wonderful poem!, i really enjoyed this work.

thank you for sharing.

You are welcome Suzisco....

I have more

Regards George