Big Ben is silent,
is hands are still,
the snow falls gently on his weary eyes.
He is the watchman of London.
He is as old as time.
A constant friend.
All seeing, all knowing.
He controls the weather, traffic, parliament. Even her Majesty.
His heart is always tick tocking away,
while we dream.
(c) Olivia Ashe. Please link back to share this poem