My Poetry. The Unbound Hour.

my poetry unbound hour

The morning clock, once stern and loud,
Now rests beneath a silent shroud.
No longer does the iron bell
Dictate the tales your days must tell.
The polished shoes, the hurried stride,
Are gently, finally, set aside.

A lifetime gathered in the hands,
Like maps of well-worn, distant lands—
The meetings met, the deadlines passed,
The heavy anchor hauled at last.
The desk is clear, the light is low,
The seeds you planted start to grow.

Now comes the time of drifting light,
To watch the slow and steady flight
Of birds across a summer sky,
To let the restless world go by.
To read the book you left half-done,
To walk beneath a Tuesday sun.

It isn’t ending—simply change,
A widening of the mountain range.
For when the labour finds its rest,
The soul begins its truer quest:
To simply be, to breathe, to find
The golden treasures of the mind.

I recently retired after over 50 Years of working and it feels GREAT, time for me now and not worrying about going to work.