The ticking pace

Beware the ticking clock and hours it brings,
It takes away the day, it haunts our dreams.

Of a hickory smell, of a dickory chime,
the clock strikes twelve, the dream sublime.

Onward marches its hands around its face,
One two they go a steady pace.

Its time, sleep time, the hours ‘ave gone,
do not turn to past times ahead.

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