Clocks

Locked down

Locked up

Blinds the prison bars within which we dwell

In the streets today

The quiet called

As many feathered carrion cawed

No rubbish

No bother

Nature finally unsmothered

Whilst we watch the clocks

Biding time

Our static hands

Matching idle minds

As time slowly,

but surely,

unwinds.

T.F. Webb