Art Title: Clocks © Stephen Dell'Aria - Plein Air PainterVisit his blog to see additional artwork.
And, his website: Steve's Art And, his other blog HERE.
The artist lives in Fairfax, Virginia, and specializes in watercolor
and oil paintings.
and oil paintings.
Artwork used with permission from Stephen Dell'Aria.
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Sung to the tune, "Grandfather's Clock" by Henry Work.
The Physicist's Clock
Consumed by his passion
With theories and tests
He pondered the nature of time
From childhood to manhood
He tried to understand
The complexities of the sublime
They said he was mad when he tried to stop all time
"You can't do it!" the wise men would chide
But
It stopped
Short
Never to go again
When the old man died
My curiosity got the best of me, Michael. So, though I couldn't find a vocal version I liked, I found this acoustic one I really love, "HERE"
Thanks for the education!
Tick, Tick ,Tick.
Our life is but a clock.
Katelen
CLOCK SHOCK
The purpose of the clock,
In this fleeting life of ours,
Is to log the march of time,
In seconds, minutes, hours.
And then we have the calendar,
Days, weeks and months...a year,
So as each year goes past us,
We crowd around and cheer.
Yet Time is such a mystery,
The future holds no limit,
And when Time slips into the past,
The centuries becomes a minute.
And what about Infinity?...
It sets our minds aghast,
The Moody Blues have said it best,
In their "Days of Future Passed"
So with Time we know we're helpless,
On the stage of Life's theatre,
We must live in Faith and leave all else,
In the hands of Our Creator.
I'll tell him one day, she thought. But, what if he laughs at me? What if he thinks I'm being too forward, too agressive? He always preferred ladies. And, a lady always waits.
The weeks turned into months, the months turned into years. And, she waited, and waited. But, he never made advances. Their relationship remained distant and aloof. Even when his wife had been dead for eight long years, she didn't have the nerve to tell him how she felt. Let him make the first move, she decided. And, she gave it no further thought. Only time will tell, was her belief. Time always tells.
Then she read the story in the newspaper, as tears streamed down her wrinkled face. A heart attack in the middle of the night. He had died quickly. No children. No living relatives.
She stayed in her dark room for weeks. Her neighbor brought her hot soup and tried to comfort her.
But, her grief was inconsolable. She had spoken with his doctor at the funeral. "He had always loved you," the Doctor confided. "And, regretted not asking you out all those years ago."
His first and only love.
His one true love.
Time will tell.
Yes, time always tells.
But, it was too late.
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