As I sat in the Accident and Emergency department of the Belfast City Hospital a very old woman slumped in a wheelchair was slowly pushed past me. Her left hand hung down displaying two beautiful rings.
THE HAND OF TIME
Grey ravaged head within the chair
A wrinkled withered hand on show;
Sparkling facet of stone just there,
From times of loving long ago.
When beauty’s radiance proudly reigned,
Like the bloom so full of nectar,
Before the human frame was pained;
Time for such is no respecter.
Once that claw like hand was young,
Not as the glittering diamond stone;
From an earthly core long flung,
In betrothal’s ring to stand alone.
Token of endearment in life’s morn,
From one departed on before;
Passion’s gesture trials of time to scorn;
Sun setting on life’s closing door.
Monty Alexander 14.9.05