The Clock Poem by jackie compton

The Clock of life is wound only once by the Master hands.
We know not the moment when a year will become a month,
when a month will become a day, and a day will become a hour.
nor do we know when a hour will become a minute, and a minute

will become a second.
No one knows when the clock of life will tick away the final second of
life, and Death cometh.

For the clock of life is wound only once
for the body that man dwell inside of.
It is not a house nor home.
It is a apartment rented to the soul.

By a landlord whom kingdom is not of this world.
one day when the cost or repairing it can no long be made.
I too shall be evicted from the apartment of life.
For time is slowly ticking away, and the clock of life can only

be wound once.