Bryan Waller Procter

(1787-1874 / England)

The Watch - Poem by Bryan Waller Procter

I wakened on my hot, hard bed;

Upon the pillow lay my head;

Beneath the pillow I could hear

My little watch was ticking clear.

I thought the throbbing of it went

Like my continual discontent;

I thought it said in every tick:

I am so sick, so sick, so sick:

O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,

Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick…

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, September 14, 2010



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