I walked into an antique shop
The richness of the past
Permeated through the air
Reflected in the glass
It was somber yet reflective
The wood floor creaked with announcement
As my feet shuffled in and around
I peeked at Santas and student lamps
Made of green shades beveled
In umbrella shapes to direct the flame
Antique brass writer’s quill
Stood alone without its calligraphy pen
Two retiring gentlemen were owners
One was a retired circuit judge.
He loved his clocks, and he loved working on them.
Asking him the price of the small clock with a grandfather’s tone
He told me, and said he was waiting for it to time out.
I smiled and said, ” I have time, I could wait too.”