The Tower In London Poem by Karla Scheidt

A tower stands strongly in London,
Made by hands not from the dungeon,
It stands strong, Not ever crumbling,
Never had a shame,
For it stands up to its name,
For no other is the same.
It is not lame nor is it to blame,
For the name that it claim's,
Yet it has the same aim,
That others came to claim,
It became the flame that is worthy of its fame;
Oh when will your bell ring?
The time is ticking,
Or are you tricking us?
But your hands are spinning,
Or are you fixing what has been broken? Frozen,
Your golden outline is like non-other,
You are the passion to London,
The action in the pause,
Oh when will your bell ring?
Big Ben in London.