The Clock by Kenneth Gwee

Across the room in dust and mould,
Lies an old clock with stories untold.
The hands set on time,
In tune and in line,
Struck strong and steady a midnight chime.

Twelve times did its clear voice sing,
Marked a new day with its constant ring.
Blasts of air now rush through,
Stairs of sand and mildew,
And breaks the door and curfew

My friends don't you see?
Time runs out around me.
The sands trickle out,
Leaves us all far in doubt,
Is it not fair at all?