In the hollow of time
Of the Balmoral Tavern sign
He keeps it with feathered faith
Amongst the collected shinys
And broken shells of babies long flown
The hollow of time left by tavern goers
Long gone
Keeping dead time dead
With the witty slant of a drunken hour hand
His vigil is as forgotten as the patrons and the sign
By all but the occasional wandering romantic
Like me

Hamilton Ont.