Somewhere, sometime

Somewhere it is six o’clock
and shop-keepers are taking stock
of goods and cash remaining
at the end of the day before turning the lock.

Church bells chime, or “dong,” or “clack”
depending on the location and era–
and also on the training of the smith
that forged the ironwork in his area.

Somewhere it is eight o’clock
past time for sun-setting at end of day
shadows are long if the light remains
or near gone if the light has slipped away.

Soup pots are bubbling–the aroma delicious
tables set with candles…and bread nutritious.
children have been packed off to bed
having had their sup and treats serendipitous.

Somewhere it is eleven o’clock
time for reading and conversation
has come to a close, and those of such persuasion
are trundling off to their beds’ temptations.

Featherbeds and counterpanes turn down
preparing for slumber to come to those
who would snooze away the weariness
recovering from the day’s activities.

Somewhere it is six o’clock
in the morning–time to answer the bell
that rings in cadence with awakening folks
who begin a new day–much like any other.

© Sometimes, 2016

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