Untied

 

The key that winds the clock

The laces in the shoe

The spices in the rack

All have things to do,

Scissors in the drawer

Lay quiet in the dark

Matches at the stove

Waiting for a spark,

The clock is running down

Someone’s moved the key

Letters in the box

None addressed to me,

Music that I know

Recalls my yesterday

Your picture in a frame

Tells why you couldn’t stay,

The clock has finally stopped

The spices all have dried

Music’s but a memory

My shoe remains untied.