Tick-tock oh ancient clock,
Upon our mantelpiece.
Brought home from his final ship,
That sailed in war and peace.

It was my father's pride and joy,
Rescued from a dusty shop.
He kept it wound when out at sea,
It was not allowed to stop.

With hands that marked the passing hours,
On a dreary convoy run.
It's chime would bring a happy smile,
To another watch now done.

Fathers gone and all his mates,
But that ancient clock remains.
We keep it ticking off the hours,
Between the picture frames.

Ian Adrian Millar